


Violets Are Blue. . .

by PhoenixDiamond



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: Courtship, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sweet Fluff, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Mild Drama, Mild hanky pank, Romance, Slash, Story complete, Trolls kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-10 01:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11680875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDiamond/pseuds/PhoenixDiamond
Summary: Branch’s fed up with the way things are going lately. Guy Diamond’s stupid flirting, arguing with Creek whom he secretly has a crush on, is getting on his nerves and who knows when the bergens will show. If that's not bad enough, who’s leaving these stupid gifts at his door?*I do not own any songs that may be used in this fiction.





	1. Roses Are Red. . .

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluemoondreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluemoondreams/gifts).



> Gift fic for Bluemoondreams who has inspired me to write my own Branch/Creek fic. This is for you sweetiepops! I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the movie Trolls or the characters or songs that may be used in this story. I am merely writing this for fun. I only own the plot.

**Disclaimer:** All characters and settings belong to Dreamworks Animation Studios, 20th Century Fox and associates. I only own the plot. Therefore, I own nada and make nada.

 

 

**Roses Are Red. . .**

 

 

Branch pressed his palm against the lid and pushed upward.

He shielded his face against the sunshine streaming through the forest canopy as he pulled himself up along with his backpack.

Bright, sunny, slightly muggy, birds chirping and the distill quietness that came naturally every early morning. Branch lived for these peaceful moments; the only times he was spared the rambunctious antics of his fellow Trolls. Judging by the position of the sun, he has about two hours to gather supplies and meet with the healers before the rest of Troll Village woke to begin their daily musicals.

Branch swung his backpack on while reading over the list of herbs needing to be restocked. “Let’s see,” he murmurs, eyes skating over the written items. “Stevia, basil, sage, settles, lemon tea leaves, medicinal posies—posies? Really?” He must’ve been delirious when he wrote these out. Branch rolled his eyes and kept on reading, “Mint, witch hazel, thymes, anddd. . . yikes.”

Oh, yeah. Branch sighs at the last item, absently tugging the strap of his pack. Violets. He’s been having trouble finding a decent patch within walking distance of the village. Last time he had a request or need for violets, he spent two days scouring the forest just to come up with only one withering flower. He wasn’t sure he was up to making such a trip unless the demand for it was absolutely necessary.

Branch made a mental note to ask the healer asking for it whether or not the violet could be substituted for another herb. After that, it’s off to collect lumber for fire and repairs to his watch hut. It astounded him how little the other trolls cared for their own safety. A Bergen could show up anytime now. It’s only a matter of time. For every party thrown by their beloved Princess Poppy, there’s more evidence loudly announced to the world that _‘hey, delectable, sweet and scrumptious trolls still exist, so come chow down for your own taste of true happiness.’_

Sure no one was twisting his arm to make him act as the village’s personal lookout, but someone has to do it. Not everyone can have the luxury of being carefree and irresponsible twenty-four seven.

Whatever. The duty may as well be Branch. No one’s as suited to being the protector then other him; outside of the king when he’d been in his prime of course, but the old guy’s darn near senile. And Branch’s made his home in the forest, being able to navigate through it so thoroughly it’s become second nature for him to wander without a second thought as to how to get to where he needs to be or fear of being lost. Such as it was now as he trekked through a blackberry bramble.

He used a walking stick he picked up along the way to stab a few of the riper ones and ate each to sustain his hunger for a while. It wasn’t long before he came upon the section of the forest he’d been searching for; a congested coppice chalk full of the ingredients he needed on his list. Unfortunately, this part of the woods just so happens to run parallel to a shallow streamlet where most of the trolls in Troll Village came to wash.

To avoid detection, Branch kept close to the underbrush and slowed his movements, being mindful of stepping on dry leaves and twigs. The humidity allowed for the right conditions for a few of the herbs to grow close to one another, so that meant he’d need to be on the lookout for a lot. He didn’t waste time searching for basil, feverfew flowers, marigolds, lemon palms, and peppermint. Especially the peppermint. He definitely has to get peppermint for his tea.

When he found a decent patch of basils, he got to work on plucking some of the leaves, then set off to do the same to the rest. He needed to hurry though. As time went on, more and more trolls began to frequent the stream’s edge to either wash their laundry, gather drinking water or went further down to an isolated area to bath or swim.

It’s as he kneels in front of a stupid patch of marigolds that positively glowed with vibrant yellow petals and green leaves, because it’s simply impossible to ignore the promoting benefits its colors showed, that he heard a loud commotion of excited voices.

Branch inwardly groans when a familiar shrill voice loudly greeted everyone with a happy, bubbly, “Hiya Clover, what’s good Sheen, what’s shakin’ bacon Raven, how’s it hangin’ David!”

In sequence to Princess Poppy’s morning solicitations, the rest of the Snack Pack just as proudly offer similar greets in the same annoying fashion. Too loud. Too cheery. Too loud. Too friendly. Too freaking loud!

And too close for comfort. Branch snatched what he could of the feverfews he’d made it too and determined the rest of his mission an aborted cause until another day and stuffed his pack. He swung it over his shoulder and started for home—

“Hey there, Branch!”

Too late. “Son of a . . .” Wait, what’s he upset for? She may be the princess, but he didn’t owe her a hello. So he kept it trucking.

“Branccccchhhh! Heyyyyy, come on, I know you hear me! Branch!”

Good heavens, her voice could carry for miles. Branch decided it would be better to stop here and get it over with instead of being the cause of her potentially leading a herd of bergens this way.

Princess Poppy bound over to him, all wide, shiny smiles. “One, two, good morning to you!” She cheered. “Three, four, it’s you we adore!”

“Five, six, put up your sticks!” The Snack Pack supportively swings in, gesturing towards his pack. “Seven, eight, there’s a party at the lake!”

Delighted with her cleverness, Poppy leaped into the air, doing a turn that made her come down with one leg cocked back as she balanced on the other facing Branch with a colorfully, decorated invitation in her hand. “Nine, ten, we’ll see you when? Ten!”

Branch narrowed his eyes in turn to each idiot, but more so on Poppy since no one else could work up a noisy crowd like her. “You won’t see me at all because I’m going back home to the warmth and safe refuge of my bunker. Where I know bergens won’t find me because it’s quiet and hidden and _quiet_!”

The whole Snack Pack gave a gusty sigh as they either brought an exasperated hand to their face or shook their heads.

Poppy, however, was undeterred and simply held out the invitation, wearing a sweet smile. “Come on, Branch. Live a little will ya? All you ever do is work.” She lowered her foot and shrugged. “Haven’t you heard that all work and no play makes a Troll turn grey? It won’t kill you to have some fun once in a while.”

“No, it’ll kill y’all instead of me because _fun_ is what attracts bergens!”

“Oh Branch,” mumbles Biggie. Then he adds a little louder, “It’s been twenty years. Twen-ty. Not a single bergen’s found us and we’ve been as loud as ever. In fact, I think we broke a record last week for Copper’s birthday, didn’t we?”

The others gleefully shared nods amongst themselves as memory from that party still left Branch with nightmares. It just so happened to be the day he’d left to get violets and he’d guesstimated that he had to have been two good miles away from the village. The music was literally tapdancing on the edge of his eardrums. And he’d found traces of glitter raining from the canopy that he was _still_ trying to get rid of in case a bergen found it.

“You all got lucky,” Branch counters sourly. “Just wait, you’ll all see. Just keep throwing your obnoxious parties and singing and dancing. See if it’ll save you when a bergen snatches you up!”

“Oi, there Branch. Branch, Branch, Branch, you overly sensitive thing. Must you be so grouchy?”

 _'Oh brother.'_ Branch's eyes roll so hard, he feels an ache twitch in the back of his head.

He could tolerate Poppy. Her upbeat jubilance was sometimes a small pleasure to appreciate when he was alone in his bunker, but mercy, when it came to this guy, Branch felt. . . all the way off. And he didn’t like being thrown out of his element and for some reason, no troll on the planet had the ability to get under his skin like _this one_.

Branch screwed up his face as he watched Creek float—if it could even be considered that. . . no—more like being airlifted by a little firefly. Who knows what happened to the beetle he’d been using just three days ago. He changed his methods of transportation like underwear.

Creek glided down on his feet, then turned to bow his brow against the firefly’s head and whispered, “Thank you for the safe travel, sister. Namaste.” He waved it off and promptly wedged himself between Poppy and Branch, openly invading Branch’s personal boundaries.

“No need to be a pessimistic fellow there, Branch.” Creek batted his eyes, and puckered his lips to add, “A bit of fun every now and then won’t send you to an early grave.”

Branch took a couple of steps back to keep his composure straight. So long as he lives, he’ll never figure out why being near Creek caused an odd sensation in his gut. It’s so weird and fuzzy and warm and tickly. Branch didn’t like it.

Sometimes he did in private, but often times Branch really didn’t like this feeling. That’s because it was super hard to ignore or get rid up. It’s all because of Creek. The anger this jerk often elicited out of him was outstanding. Branch despises the power of persuasion Creek seems to possess. It wasn’t enough he could sway Poppy into doing whatever he wanted, but it works on nearly every troll he encounters.

It was understandable though. Branch wasn’t a total prude. He could see why so many trolls would be attracted to Creek. His thick hair is a dazzling electric blue that rose and swirled upwards into turquoise and curved into spring green tips. Not a single strand stood out. Then there’s his infuriatingly, devastatingly, fantastic color scheme body. How many Trolls were born with skin a shade of purple, accented with silver freckles and smooth as clover leaves? Not to mention that orange nose. And those cunning, luminous oceanic eyes, like what one would imagine when staring into a raindrop. They were bright and mesmerizing and aggravatingly forever filled with cool amusement. That jerk had no business being so attractive with a sinewy body and—and a saucy voice—

“Oi mate, feeling alright there?”

Branch snaps his eyes up and realizes with horror that he’s been openly checking out Creek. He’s somewhat confident that his natural scowl covered up any mild interest since they all seemed to be focused on Creek. He prayed it came off like that.

Creek crept to Branch’s side and playfully shoulders him. “Say, it might have escaped your notice, but you’re coming off as a bit of a downer these days, mate. Remember what I said before about taking time to practice some positivity? Try it. Today preferably. Just a taste of that good ole optimism will probably add some color in your life, eh?”

Copper and Biggie chuckle under their breath.

The sarcastic suggestion causes Branch to perform the most epic eyeroll of his lifetime. He’s grateful for the distraction of his earlier staring and even gladder to be reminded of how much of a total jerk Creek is despite his good looks. Such a pity too. Someone that attractive has no business being this annoying.

Branch slightly shakes his head, hikes up the straps of his pack and stares at his adversary, bored. “You know Creek, if you put in as much effort learning to dance instead of trying to pass yourself off as a bogus guru, you’d probably have the two-step mastered.”

The whole Snack Pack as well as Poppy all gasped. Even Creek was left assuming the most dumbfounded expression Branch had the pleasure of causing. It wasn’t a huge shock. Creek wasn’t well known for his dancing skills. He easily disguised his handicap with songs, and during parties could easily fall into a light head bob that went to the beat. But as far as actually doing anything remotely coordinated? That’d be as possible as teaching a fish to walk out of water. He made a simple slow dance come off like people with two left feet were experts. The dude is an absolute wreck.

Creek knew it, Poppy knew it, the Snack Pack knew it and the rest of Troll Village knew it. It’s just no one is brave enough to point out the obvious because a handsome troll like Creek doesn’t have flaws. Too bad Branch wasn’t planning to be subtle. If Creek wanted to trade comebacks, he challenged the right one today.

Until, Creek came back with something a bit more. . . hurtful.

“You’d know what that’s like eh, Branch ole boy.” Creek reconstructs his arrogance, eyelids lowered, smirk crooked and stupidly perfect. “Seeing as all you have is yourself to dance with, who are you to judge my skills? When there’s only you of course you’ll think you’re good at everything. I guess being stuck as a bitter loner has it perks.” Seemingly satisfied with his burn, Creek folds his arms and expectantly awaits Branch’s predictable outburst.

Normally, Branch wouldn’t indulge, but the creep knew precisely which buttons to push and oh boy, he was especially tap dancing on a touchy subject.

Branch’s fingers tightened around his pack straps as he took a step forward. “Let’s get something clear, Creek. I’m alone by choice. That messed up legwork you try to pull off isn’t by choice. It’s permanent. You’re stuck bobbing your head off it’s axis since it’s already on the verge of tilting off the edge from being so swelled!”

“Is that right?”

“Darn right, pal!”

Creek barks a short laugh. “Coming from an overly bitter, sourpuss like you? Who’s really the handicap one here? I’ve yet to ever see you crack so much as a grin. Why’s that, huh? Lips too fat to manage it or are you afraid it’ll crack that mug of yours into something worst?”

“Oh, believe you me, I’ve had plenty of laughs at your expense.” Branch then holds up two fingers. “Twice in fact; the first time I’ve seen how pathetically you dance and the second time was when you realized you can’t dance—”

Creek’s smirk finally dropped. Branch’s own came strong. Looks like he struck a nerve.

“Funny how you have the audacity to criticize others, Branch. You don’t sing, dance, smile, or laugh, so tell me what a real Troll is? Because if we need an example of what not to do, you’d make the perfect lesson.”

“OK!” Poppy loudly intervenes, clapping her hands together with a hopeful smile to diminish the tension. “Who’s up for cupcakes?”

But the damage has already been done. Branch’s lips stretched into a grim line as his narrowed gaze focused so intently on Creek, he had the gratification of knowing that he could make the jerk buckle. He opened his mouth to finish their argument with something more lethal, but that last comment cut him pretty deep.

“Forget you guys.” Branch turned on his heel and marched off into the woods.

Guy Diamond steps forward. “Branch wait!” But the lonely grey troll continued his haughty trek until his short black hair wasn’t visible. “So, you’re not coming to the party?”

“Nope, I’m not looking to grant my death wish today!” Branch shouts back and is gone.

Since he wasn’t considered a real Troll, what business does he have being around them?

_‘Stupid Creek.’_

 

**O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O**

 

When he disappears from view, Creek lowers his arms, mind racing through a multitude of emotions. Anger, disdain, annoyance. . .regret. . . shame. . . He’s gone and done it again. He brought his fist up to lightly smack against his brow. _‘Way to go Creek. That's a fine way to show your crush you totally dig him. Show him you care by deepening his wounds by saying he isn’t a real troll.’_

Creek subconsciously took a step in the direction Branch left in, then stopped himself and clenched his other hand into a fist. Curse his pride. One of the shared traits he and Branch had that he wished to the heavens they could do away with. It’ll be another lifetime before one of them apologized to the other. Their encounters always ended this way and to be honest, Creek was getting sick of it.

He wanted a different kind of meet and greet with the lonely troll; something other than their usual exchange of insults. But the likelihood of that ever happening, well, Creek was smart enough to know he’ll be six feet under.

Still, Creek kept a secret smile to himself as he thought over Branch’s facial expression whenever he got mad. That adorable purple nose of his always has a way of wrinkling up like a prune. The way Branch’s lips toot to the side like someone’s pinching his cheek, never fails to wring a chuckle out of Creek. OK, so he’ll admit getting Branch mad is an inner fetish. No one, outside of one Troll in this whole universe knows how he feels for Branch and getting the lonely troll worked up was part of the fun.

What wasn’t there to like about Branch? He’s everything an irresponsible troll needs in their life. He’s courageous, intelligent, selfless, caring, quiet and Creek’s personal favorite, mildly aggressive and strong. It only took one lazy afternoon stroll in the woods one day to figure out just how strong Branch was when Creek accidentally stumbled upon the pale blue troll hacking up lumber with an axe.

That day Branch’s moss-sown vest was discarded on a low hanging tree limb while he vigorously brought his axe high up and down, as the sunshine glistened over his sweat-coated body.

And holy candy corns, that bloody troll is delectably gorgeous.

And that thick black hair? There isn’t a comb invented that can tame that short stalk of unruly mass. It rose up and sprouted at the tips in a controlled disarray, like an oily volcano. The style is overly typical for most trolls, but the effect it has on Branch makes him unique because no one knows what his real colors are. It added to his mysteriousness. What color schemes did he have? A darker or light shade of blue? Or probably an off the wall hue like auburn or a glittery fuchsia. And his hair. . . What color would it become once he knew happiness? Would it grow, curl, split, or blossom on his head like a flower.

Creek had shivered into a tizzy just imagining the possibilities.

But moving on. All trolls naturally possess a pudgy belly and Branch was no different, but it was his arms and legs that stood out. His arms were roped with taut, defined biceps, made for carrying and those legs, they were thick and sinewy with calves thick as, well, a branch.

Creek developed goosebumps as his eyes skated over every single visible inch of flesh. The only reason Creek had to stop his show was because he’s stepped on a stick and the sound alerted Branch to another being nearby. It didn’t take long for Branch to hasten his task and disappear inside his bunker for the rest of the day.

Creek had already been fascinated by Branch, but from that day onward, he wanted Branch more than a plate of chocolate strawberries. He. . . he loved him more than happiness could stand to offer. Creek just didn’t know how exactly to go about saying it.

Sighing under his breath, Creek shakes his head and turns—to discover all eyes were trained on him, each member of the Snack Pack and Princess Poppy wearing expressions ranging from confusion, discomfort, or anger. The latter being more visible from Guy Diamond and Princess Poppy.

“What?” he questions irritably. “Don’t even go there, he started it!”

“That’s no reason to hit below the belt!” Guy Diamond snaps, hands planted firmly on his hips. “I swear it’s like you get a kick out of makin’ him angry. As if he isn’t already bitter enough, you go and say stuff that makes him hate us more!”

“That isn’t my intention at all!” Creek hotly defends, frankly surprised to be lectured by Guy Diamond of all Trolls. It was apparent that the others were just equally shocked. “I want him to be happy as much as anyone!”

“Do you? I can hardly tell, Creek. You know he has a hard time gettin’ along with others. Instead of belittlin’ him, try seein’ things from his perspective. The guy’s just worried for our safety.”

Creek blinks stunned, then his eyelids thin to suspicious slits. “Right, just worried for our safety. Glad to know you’ve been paying such close attention.”

Guy Diamond’s smirk had no problem relaying what Creek was inwardly suspecting. The fact that another possible contender was in on this left a hard feeling settling at the pit of his stomach.

“Someone has to,” Guy Diamond proudly counters, unfazed by the bewildered looks coming from his friends. “It certainly won’t be you.”

“OK!” Poppy gives the loudest handclap in the universe and it works, silencing the pair and shattering the tension. “I say a cupcake trip is in order. Biggie you mind whipping up a few? I’m dying to have your chocolate sprinkles.”

Biggie sags with relief at having something to do other than witness a potential fallout. “Of course, Poppy! I got a new recipe I’ve been wanting to show you guys anyway.”

“Great, you guys go on. Me and _Creek_ ,” she puts emphasis on Creek’s name to warn to not move an inch because they were definitely going to chat, “will catch up.”

“Sure thing,” the twins said.

“We’ll see you guys there!” DJ Suki waved, and began ushering the others towards the village.

Not once did Poppy take her eyes off of Creek and Guy Diamond’s near nose to nose staring contest. Neither of the two bothered to acknowledge the princess impatiently tapping her foot. After a full, and rather impressive, five minutes of this nonsense, Poppy walked up to the two and pulled them apart.

“Right, so would either of you mind playing the bigger troll and saying sorry?”

That suggestion pulled their anger from each other to her as they shouted, “No way!”

Poppy rolled her eyes and shrugged. It was worth a shot. “Guy Diamond, why don’t you go check on Branch to make sure he’s doing alright? Me and Creek need to talk.”

Guy Diamond’s smile was positively wicked. “Of course, Poppy.” Then he tauntingly looks Creek up and down, “I’ll gladly go make sure he’s fine.” With that said and a glittery swish of his hips, Guy Diamond bound off in the direction they last saw Branch heading, leaving behind a gape mouthed Creek.

Creek stared off after Guy Diamond, then turned his astounded expression toward Poppy. “Seriously? Did you really just do that?” He gestures demandingly and folds his arms.

Poppy chuckles at this. “Don’t worry, he won’t try anything.”

“Really? Because it looks to me like he can’t wait to _‘make sure he’s fine’_ ” Creek sarcastically ends with air quotes.

As usual the sarcasm flies right over Poppy’s head as she waves off his concern. “Branch won’t give him the time of day. But that’s hardly important. What is, is you explaining yourself because even for you Creek, that was way out of line. Didn’t we talk about this?”

Creek gave Poppy a long hard look that eventually melted into one of solemnness. He knew she was right. There wasn’t a point in hiding his feelings for Branch from her. She’s the sole troll who knew how he felt for the loner.

Many of the villagers assumed that the he and Poppy were already a couple or on the verge of reaching that point, but that was hardly the case. Neither of them intended to deny nor confirm the rumors. It was easier to simply let people think what they wanted. That way they wouldn’t have so many trolls asking them out as dates to the parties.

Whenever they accompanied one another to parties, they often shared conversations or exchanged kind, warm smiles at each other. It was common for others to get the wrong idea, but they always found each other as a means of comfort. Creek was Poppy’s outlet during the few times she became overwhelmed with her duties as royalty and Poppy was Creek’s shoulder to lay on whenever he’s down about his inability to dance or his feelings about Branch. But lately, she’s been encouraging the idea of finally confessing his feelings for Branch, and like the dickens he planned to do that. Branch would strangle him a new shade of purple.

“I dunno, love,” Creek finally murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down his arm, saddened. “I wish I knew how to control what comes out of my mouth, but Branch’s an expert at pushing my buttons. He knows just what to say to get under my skin.”

“So do you.” Poppy walks over to her friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You two are a match made in heaven,” she suddenly giggles. “It’s so cute how you both go at it like an old mated couple. I can only imagine what’ll it be like when you two finally share a pod.”

Creek gives a small smile at the fantasy. Him and Branch sharing a pod together in the midst of Troll Village. Waking every morning to that sweet smile, helping Branch every day during one of his excursions in the woods, and welcoming Branch home to a plate of freshly cooked pastries. Creek sighs longingly, smile broadening and warmth coloring his cheeks.

“Whoa,” he hears Poppy whispering and looks up to see her eyes low and delighted. “You’ve really got it bad, don’t you my man?”

Creek nods and groans. “I love that idiot.”

“Then what are you waiting for?!” Without warning, Poppy starts to shove Creek towards the forest. “Go tell him how you feel!”

Creek digs his heels into the ground, eyes wide and frightened. “Are you mad? He’ll sooner wring my neck. He hates me!”

“No, you _think_ he hates you, just like he _thinks_ you hate him!”

Poppy has more strength then a happy pink troll should own. She manages to give a proper push and Creek’s stumbling forward. He catches himself, glances over his shoulder and after locking eyes with a pair of determined pink irises, Creek admits defeat and starts his dash towards Branch’s bunker.

 

**O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O**

 

Branch didn’t go home. He didn’t feel like being in the dark and opted for finding a secluded area in the forest to mope.

Fine, to pout. He was pouting and knew it was childish and could care less.

He ventured until finding a small pond full of gold and burgundy trout to toss stones at and watch scatter, reflecting under the sunshine like glass shards. He sat cross legged on the pond’s edge, studying his reflection being broken by the ripples and listening to the waves brush the little shore.

“Stupid Creek.” Branch flicks a stone into the water, frowning. “Stupid jerk.”

Not a real Troll? Guess Creek would know. Any troll who is a troll would consider Creek to be the cream of the crop. Doesn’t mean it hurt any less. Branch couldn’t hold it against Creek though. Branch did start the argument this time by calling on Creek’s sore spot. But that’s just how Branch is. He’s always had a loose mouth partnered with an even looser tongue.

It’s kind of funny. Creek would always go out of his way to make fun of Branch and Branch would stop at nothing to make sure he could dish it out just as well. At times, it was fun to see Creek get ruffled and other times, Branch would get annoyed at himself with the victories from their verbal bouts.

Truthfully, he was getting tired of the arguments. They were getting to the point where insults were viewed as a form of salutation. If Branch ever heard a simple hello or hey come from Creek, he’d be worried the troll was dying or leaving or something. None of which sat well with him.

“Darn it.” He tosses another stone in the pond, then perches his chin on the back of his fist.

And here cues those silly little flutters in his belly. Despite all the smart aleck remarks, sassy comments and backhanded compliments, there was still something just so-so magnetic about Creek. Thinking about him, seeing him, listening to him, everything about him never fails to leave Branch inwardly reeling.

What’d it be like to have a day with Creek that didn’t involve them being at odds? Could they share a cupcake, join one another for a nature walk, or heck, have a conversation? Branch bets there’s more to the guy then his charms. Branch would like to think so. It’s more fun to pretend there is at least.

Branch lost track of how long he sat on the side of the pond, tracing the moist dirt into patterns, shapes and letters, and then a name. . . then one particular drawing transforms into a certain purple curly haired troll. It’s all quiet, his mind’s at ease, and he’s perfectly content daydreaming about what happiness is like until the noisy crunch of dry leaves has him on his feet in seconds and poise for defense.

Then Branch is retracting his hair from when it’d stretched into a whip and felt himself flush when spotting who it was. Guy Diamond warily peers around a tree, hands up, eyes huge.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean. . .” Branch stops, thinks, then shakes his head. “Actually, yeah I did. I was gonna scare you off, but I’m not in the mood to be a jerk.”

Guy Diamond’s lips upturn on the side. “Gee, thanks and here I thought you were born rude.” He plants his hands on his hips and tilts his head to the side. “So, umm,” he loses his smile, “are you alright?”

Branch cocks an eyebrow. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just ya know, curious,” Guy Diamond kicked a bit at the grass, averting his eyes. Then he glances up. “Sorry about what happened with Creek. I should’ve stepped in to say somethin’. He tends to get outta hand sometimes. Even for him,” he adds with a small frown.

It was Branch’s turn to place his knuckles on his hips, “Shouldn’t he be here apologizing for his own mouth? He’s a full-grown troll. . .” Branch notices Guy Diamond’s shoulders deflate and softly says, “But I appreciate the sentiment.” He laughs a little. “This is weird, having one of you come check on me. I’m not use to the service.” Branch turns to face the pond, now a shimmering flatbed of polished sapphire.

“We’re never joking when we say we care about you, Branch. We all do. . .” Guy Diamond’s cheeks color a bit. “Some of us more than others.”

Branch turns around, surprised. “I guess,” he eventually says after a small pause, then faces the pond again.

Silence settles in the tiny clearing. Guy Diamond takes advantage of the quietness to get nearer until he’s alongside of Branch and together, they share the view of the area.

“It’s nice out here,” Guy Diamond comments. “You come here often?”

Branch cuts his eyes suspiciously when he replies, “Yeah, when I need to think or get as far from the village as I can. Or when I need to come up with defensive tactics against the bergens.”

“Whenever they show their ugly faces, right?”

“Right—wait, you think they’ll show?!”

Guy Diamond chuckles at Branch’s reaction. “I dunno. Maybe. I know they’re lookin’ for us. They may show up some day, but it’s good to know that if the others aren’t willin’ to be on the lookout that we have someone who is. I know we’ll learn to recognize you for your efforts someday. Right now, I think it’s easier for everyone to just be happy for our freedom and not have to live everyday scared. I doubt you want all of the children to be terrified of coming out to play, right?”

“I . . .” Branch presses his lips together in thought. “No, I never considered it. I just want everyone to be prepared. They _will_ come you know. If Poppy keeps stirring these loud and crazy parties, it’s only a matter of time—”

“Branch.”

Branch scowls at being interrupted.

Guy Diamond smiles, “While you’re worryin’ about us, who’s worryin’ ‘bout you?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“We can all do that, but. . . who’s takin’ care of you?” Guy Diamond fully turns towards Branch, letting the sun beam all over his glittery exterior. The effect’s just as he desires.

Branch’s eyes can’t hide his interest. Glitter’s a natural come-hither aphrodisiac for trolls and to be such a troll with a body coated in the stuff, well, it’s a safe bet that you’re wanted by all. Guy Diamond goes as far as to gradually strike a sensual pose, and winks.

Branch blinks rapidly and averts his gaze elsewhere, but he’s sure it’s too late to deny he’d been checking out Guy Diamond of all trolls.

“See something you like?” Guy Diamond teases.

Branch snorts. “Hardly.”

“Ah, your lips say no, but your eyes say,” Guy Diamond gets closer, lowering his voice, “I wanna touch.”

The disembodied whisper shoots through Branch like an electric wave and he stumbles off balance and to the ground. Guy Diamond laughs, slapping his thighs. Branch doesn’t think it’s funny in the slightest and opens his mouth to say just that until a silvery hand is stretched out to him.

Branch pouts, but takes it anyway and lets himself get hauled up to his feet. He dusts off his vest and shorts.

“Ha, ha, funny troll,” he grumbles, a little amused. It was kind of funny. “So, did you come to check on me or check me out?”

“Both,” Guy Diamond has no problem confiding, even if there’s a shine of a blush showing through his cheeks.

“Oh. Oh. . . wow.” Branch rocks back and forth on his heels, feeling the beginnings of an overwhelming awkwardness. He’s never had anyone admit they like him or heck, found him attractive. He didn’t think he was ugly by a long shot, but it’s different when you have someone openly give their opinion about your appearance. It’s sort of embarrassing and kind of welcome. Still. . . it sucks he’s late. Guy Diamond would make one heck of a boyfriend.

“Listen, Guy, um,” Branch scratches behind his tower of hair, searching for the right words to say. “I don’t think I’m the kind of guy you’d want. I mean, have you met me?”

“Yeah, s’ why I’m interested,” Guy Diamond says simply and shrugs.

“What’s there to like?!”

“What isn’t there to like?”

Branch clamps his mouth shut.

Guy Diamond steps closer. Branch’s eyes are glued to the ground until a soft hand cups his cheek, guiding his gaze up into a pair of light blue eyes. Guy Diamond’s smile is as radiant as his body. “What isn’t there to like?” He repeats giving a wider, more devilish smile that stupidly makes his teeth sparkle.

“Plenty if you’re a real troll.”

Guy Diamond examines him attentively for long moments. Then he says, “Guess I have a lot of options then, huh?” And he’s leaning forward until his lips delicately press against Branch’s cheek with a neat little touch, it’s there and then gone, as light as the beat of a butterfly wing.

Branch tears himself away, eyes enormous, hand suction cupped to his cheek in shock.

Guy Diamond winks and turns to leave.

Branch shakes himself from his stupor and runs to cut the troll off. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you don’t get to just do-to do that and leave? I own you a punch at least!”

Guy Diamond holds out his arms. “Go ahead. It’ll be worth the pain—”

Branch’s fist is already flying straight into the glittery troll’s green nose before he has a chance to breath the last of his sentence. He flies through the air and lands flat on his back, jaw throbbing like he’d been stuck by a jellybean bee.

“Next time, ask!” Branch huffs, then goes to snatch up his belongings and marches off home, grumbling something about disrespectful, perverted trolls.

“Ow,” Guy Diamond sits up, cradling his jaw. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Still, he’s happy to have gotten a kiss. It was definitely worth it and that blue skin is just as soft as he imagined. Almost like kissing the hide of a plum.

“You’re lucky he got to you before I did, mate. I promise I hit way harder.”

The voice behind him is full of smooth rage, a tone that had no business coming from a happy troll, but Guy Diamond could understand. He’d be reeling if he caught someone else kissing his candy crush.

He doesn’t let the fact he’s been clocked get to him and glides up to his feet and pivots to face Creek leaning against the side of a seedling, arms folded, face dull. But the anger’s unmistakable in his dark blue eyes.

“Creek,” Guy Diamond greets, dusting off his arms. “You’re late. He’s already gone and I’m about to do the same.”

“That’s fine, I prefer you leaving now before I change my mind about swelling your other cheek.” Creek shoves off the tree and stalks towards the sparkling troll, giving off an aura potent with untamable anger. “But before you do, let’s say you and I have a chat like a pair of mature trolls.” He clasps his hands together once and rubs them together, smirk lethal. “What do you say?”

Guy Diamond sucks his teeth, unimpressed. “I think I’ll pass. ‘Sides, there’s a party calling my name and there’s no party without Guy Diamond.” He shimmies his body in the sun and strikes a pose.

“Oh, I think you can spare a few minutes, chum. I won’t need that long to get my message across.”

“Message? Hmm,” Guy Diamond mockingly taps his chin, then snaps his fingers. “Oh, you mean about Branch. In that case, I definitely don’t have anything to say to you.”

Creek halts directly in front of Guy Diamond. By now his once curly hair has whipped itself into a perfect pinpoint. “I won’t beat around the bush then, so I’ll only say this once. Stay. Away. From Branch.”

“Or—”

Creek spins around and in the next second, he’s whipping the tip of his hair straight at the center of a tree with such precision that it split as if sliced with a razor. Splinters scrambled up the bark, wood slivers crackling until it collapsed within itself.

Creek retracts his hair into its flipped curl and faces Guy Diamond.

“If anyone’s going to add some color in his life, you’re looking at him.” Creek puffs his chest out, arms folded, chin high. “Best to get that fact through your glittery head, mate. Branch is mine.” With that said, Creek heads back to the village, never looking back.

Guy Diamond looks worriedly at the broken tree, then touches a hand to his jaw. “I sure hope this is worth it, Poppy,” he whispers. “I kinda wanna keep my head after this.”


	2. Violets Are Blue. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any mistakes you make encounter. I was in a hurry to post this because I have to work soon. I appreciate everyone who's reading this. I wasn't expecting this story to get much traction outside of one reader. So please know that I am truly grateful.

 

 

**Violets Are Blue. . .**

This has to be the stupidest of stupidest ideas Creek has ever done. He doesn’t know why he assumed listening to Poppy now would change. Since they were little trollets, she’s always gotten him into trouble following her silly ideas. This one is no different. Ugh, he wants to reach around and kick his own behind.

At this rate, if he was caught, Branch will have him dangling from a fire pit. What on earth would Creek know about courtship gifts or pursuit. He’s so used to others chasing him, not the other way around. But he’s ready for a challenge.

So, what does one do when wanting to attract a mate?

As he thought it over, he ran his comb through his hair, ideas buzzing through his brain, but none of them worthy enough. Cooked meals, help with his work, neither of them appealed to Creek too much. He hates labor as much as a hair knot and needed an entire day to focus on cooking because he has the magic touch when it comes to baking.

Also, Branch is an incredibly difficult troll to please. Nothing, absolutely nothing that Creek can think of has ever brought so much as a grin on that grey troll’s face. He just remains down and to himself, which eliminates any chances of asking others what Branch’s favorite—whatever—would be.

Creek cocks an eyebrow to himself and shakes his head. Come to think of it, he’s kind of glad other trolls don’t bother to speak to Branch. That means less trolls to be jealous of. As if he needs anymore meddling, sparkling, wannabe, good-for-nothing—

Creek paused between a candy and clothing pod to clear his mind of all negativity, humming a soft tune, then relaxes. Back to Branch. Focus on him and his needs. And his hair, his eyes. . . God, that bloody body of his— “Hummmm, no. No!” Creek quietly scolded his naughty thoughts and slapped a hand on his cheek. “Mercy, mercy, mercy, don’t be a pervert. Save that for later, silly troll.”

Where was he? Yes, shopping for gifts. Poppy had been adamant about him starting there first. It’d break the ice, start conversation, get something going. Creek half-frowned. He knew a few hobbies Branch was into. Those included, working, collecting provisions, panicking, working, griping, screaming about the bergens, working and demanding silence.

Creek’s eyebrows rose slowly. He snapped his fingers as the most banging idea blossomed in his mind. He knew the perfect gift to get Branch. Creek can’t recall ever seeing him with this, but knew Branch could use a pair.

And it just so happened that Creek knew exactly where to get such a gift.

Creek pumps his fist in the air before dashing through the village, slinging his hair unto the closest branch and hauling himself up. It took a trip through the cluttering pods and branches before his eyes settled on a special shop. With a huge smile, Creek sprinted for it, heart a flutter and excitement blooming as colorful as hair.

_‘Branch will love this.’_

 

_**O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O** _

__

“Soooo, why am I supposed to do this?”

Poppy bit her lip to keep from snorting into laughter. Guy Diamond is a nervous wreck. She can respect his fear after having his face bruised by such a powerful punch. Who knew Branch had so much strength behind that lonely exterior. Still, she hated repeating herself and her patience wasn’t the best.

The pair peered from behind their hiding place, high above in a thick cluster of twigs, leaves and moss, watching Creek enter a pod workshop.

“Listen,” Poppy softly starts, “this will only work if Creek feels like he’s got some competition. He already believes you’re after Branch and Branch thinks you have a crush on him—”

“I do have a crush on him! But now I’m terrified after he blasted the glitter off my cheek!” Guy Diamond wailed and flinched when his cheek throbbed. She shushed him. Guy Diamond sighs, casting a pleading look at his princess. “Can’t we come up with some other idea other than me potentially being whipped into oblivion? You didn’t see what Creek did to that tree!”

“Creek’s hardly violent.”

Guy Diamond lifts an eyebrow. “Go see what’s left of that tree and then say that again.”  

“No point, I know him.”

“No, you _think_ you know him, and what I know of him says that he’s the worst choice for Branch. I think I’m the better option.”

Poppy fully faces her friend, dully blinking. “You and I both know that you are a horrible choice. Creek and Branch make a much cuter couple,” she finishes dismissively and adds. “Besides, the sooner we get those two together, the sooner we can get back to throwing parties. Anddddd. . .”

Guy Diamond looks at her, waiting.

Poppy smiles sneakily. “The sooner I hold up my end of our deal.”

Guy Diamond’s eyes flash brilliantly and a small smile broadens into the happiest of all happy trolls. “Fine,” he whispers back and fists pounds her. “Don’t forget the flowers.”

Poppy returns the fist bump and winks. “Deal. Now let’s get to work.”

_**O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O** _

Perhaps he’s gone a little overboard. What Creek had intended to get turned into a splurge fest. Suddenly there were many items that Branch needed and a couple Creek could use for himself. He’d gone through several private, small time pod shops searching for specific things, all of them needing to have an everyday use or Branch wouldn’t put up with them. Branch never struck Creek as the type of troll to keep mementoes.

Still. . . maybe this many gifts were too much for the start of a courtship. He didn’t want to come off too strong . . .

But after a split second to inventory his purchases, Creek immediately changes his mind. No price is too high or small. These will do. If Branch didn’t get the message after seeing these, then he’s thicker then should be legally allowed.

After rearranging his mound of gifts to resemble a smile, Creek checks his surroundings to be sure no one else’s around, then approached the hatch to Branch’s bunker. He’d accidentally walked past it on his way here and put the gifts in front of another rock. It took him all of fifteen minutes to realize that no troll lived there and only a few jelly beetles did.

But Creek is certain as his hair is curled, that this is Branch’s place.

Creek knocks, rocks on his heel, whistling a tune—then rapidly and noisily drums his fists against the hatch door until a familiar grumble could be heard clamoring up the ladder. Creek snickered at the grouchy shouts of “wait a freaking minute”, “hold your stupid horses”, “whoever that is is so dead” all coming from below. Or he thought that’s what was being said. It wasn’t too clear until he heard the latch being unhooked and “dead troll” became very clear.

Creek found the closest tree and stretched his hair to snap around a branch and hoisted himself out of sight. Just in time too. The door flipped backwards and Branch was on the ground, hair bristling, fists clenched as tight as his teeth.

Just look at that grumpy face. He looks so darn sexy.

Creek sighs dreamily and made himself comfortable on his perch to watch the show. . .

 

 

_**O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O** _

 

Branch had been ready to go up somebody’s head for knocking like that. He’d been in the middle of rearranging his sweat jars and that’s delicate work. Now he’d have to remember which days he’d stored what and boil them accordingly.

“Idiots,” he grumbles when finding no one around. Probably some brat exploring the woods to find the creepy, unhappy troll. That’d be the first time it’s ever happened though, but it’s still bothersome.

A storm of ideas for traps brewed in his mind. Maybe setting a few of those around will deter any future visitors. In fact, he should’ve been on that anyway. No telling if a bergen might stumble upon his bunker if some random trollet could.

Shadows of clouds passed overhead. Branch tilted his head back to idly watch; likely a simple overcast. He didn’t get the sense of a coming storm. The air’s too warm.

His gaze lowers to a startling surprise lain out some feet away from his entrance. He’d leapt out so fast, he’d dumbly missed the mound of gifts neatly set out in the shape of a crooked smile. There were packages of assorted sizes and dainty decorations; a couple, the medium sized ones, were very elaborately wrapped.

Branch wondered who would go to such trouble. It wasn’t his birthday. No one in Troll Village even knew the date. Whoever it was knew he didn’t like crowds. That was thoughtful.

Or. . . perhaps it was a trap! Of course. Bergens knew trolls were attracted to sparkly, glossy, shiny gift-wrapped presents—because Branch was fighting his inner squeals not to dive in— but no way was he about to become someone’s snack.

“Nice try, bergen!” Branch yelled into the surrounding forest. “You woke up on the wrong side of reality if you think I’m gonna fall for this obvious trap. Go find an easier meal ‘cause it sure as spit ain’t gonna be me. Peace!”

Branch’s halfway to his bunker when a sharp, yet deep squeak suddenly resounds from somewhere in the trees. Branch’s ears perk up. He pivots in place, closely scouring the tree canvases for anything that might resemble a troll avoiding a beatdown. Living in the woods so long, Branch has grown used to distinguishing the differences between actual greenery and the telltale signs of a shimmer of a troll in hiding, which always reflects from exposure to direct sunlight. But this troll’s clever, something Branch easily deduces after realizing no proof of a bergen had been here recently. This troll knows to keep to the shadows or chance being found.

So, the question still stands. Why give him presents? For what? Surely, they must know it’ll be pointless. He can’t stand anything super sweet, he doesn’t collect anything that he can’t use and outside of an old worn picture of his beloved grandma, he doesn’t have keepsakes.

Branch gives an insufferable huff under his breath, then yells out, “You’re wasting your time whoever you are. I’m about as emotional as a plate of rice.” He studies over the carefully wrapped gifts a moment more, then deliberates as he appraises the quality. Giftwrapping is sort of a craft. There’s no telling how long this troll took to do this for him. Darn it, he has such a cruel, one-sided, caring conscience. How he wished he were truly as coldhearted as so many of them portrayed him to be.

“Thanks anyway, I guess. I’m much obliged, and uh, stuff.” _‘Guess it would be rude to not even open them.’_ “I don’t like surprises in case you weren’t aware!”

The intensity broiling in his belly to tear off the giftwrap was tingling in his belly like the aftermath of pop rocks and summer soda. For once, Branch was indulging his troll instincts to enjoy the glossy things in life.

The first gift he reached for was kind of flat, wide and thin. He snatched off the red glossy paper and loosened its gold ribbon with the air of someone prepared to reject the content, no matter what it was.

Branch opened the box and stared when he what was inside. He’d been so ready to toss whatever was in it, but now? He lowered himself to sit on his romp as he pulled out the pair of fine leather work gloves. He turned them around to examine the material. Branch rubbed his fingers over the black leather despite himself and approved. He’d been meaning to get himself a pair of these for some time, but like anything he remotely wanted, Branch kept it buried in the back of his mind as wishful thinking. Now, here they were of the most exquisite quality, freshly wiped and even with a small vile of oil to keep them clean.

Branch sat the gloves aside with a gentle pat. This is. . . generous. So, this troll pays enough attention to recognize Branch’s needs. He didn’t know whether to be disturbed or touched.

Either way, he’s officially bewitched with curiosity and quietly moves on to the next gift after casting a small glance at the gloves. The other boxes, he thought decidedly, could be opened and organized to the side. One contained a pair of copper colored dungarees. The next had fur bedded casing for his gloves. Then from the one he opened after. . . well, it has a poorly sown together maple leaf vest with gilt edgings. Branch held it out, inspecting the handiwork. With a little tidying with the stitches, he could salvage it and make it presentable. It’s most charming feature was the high rising collar; its only saving grace.

Branch placed it by his leg and turned his attention to the last box. The way the paper molded to this one made what was inside obvious, but Branch’s hands still shook as he ripped the paper off, revealing the perfectly square hard case. He couldn’t believe what was inside, even as his eyes slowly and carefully looked over every tool.

“Oh, but. . . how did. . . how did they know?” Branch made a small sighing sound as he traced his fingertips over the old model tools. These weren’t made anymore and super hard to come by. The last time he’d lain eyes on handcraft tools were the set from his grandfather. But during the Great Escape, they’d been lost in transit.

All of them were made of polished cherry wood, with a ** _B_** carved onto the handles of each one. Branch plucked the tools out one at a time, turning them over, stroking the indentions illustrating where the fingers should cradle the stems. A pointing trowel for spearing plants down to the root, three wrenches all ranging in sizes for different purposes, a thermometer to test the temperature for his herbal concoctions, pliers, a screwdriver, spare twine, a small painting knife set, everything was in it. Branch wanted to cheer, this was perfect down to the last detail.

Branch closed the tool chest and placed it on the side in the grass and took a long moment to breathe, as if he’d heaved a huge weight of something somewhere. So many old memories washed over him in brutal waves, some of the happiest, enchanting moments he’d ever experienced. There were so very few of his grandfather, but the most memorable were of the times he’d secretly stand outside his grandfather’s work studio and watch him turn a flower into a bowl, bend bark into benches or weave grass into baskets. There was no task too big or too small for him to do.

That was his grandpa.

Branch’s expression wavered so hard between sorrow and happiness before settling on a small sample of the two. He sniffled, rubbing his wrist under his nose and took another shuddering breath as his eyes grew hot and moist. “Gotta be this air,” he grumbled, climbing to his feet. “Making my eyes sweat and stuff.”

Branch took his time repackaging everything to fit in the boxes as they came and stacked them. Then he tilted his head back to take a more concentrated gander of the forest trees and thick leaves hanging like a baldachin. Nothing stood out to him, but he knew, something told him, that the one responsible for this gallant deed was still out there, watching him.

“I don’t know what your intentions were with giving these to me!” Branch hollered out. He placed a hand over his chest, eyes shutting tight. “But they,” he had to clear his throat because his stupid emotions like to get involved. So, he tried again, a bit stronger, “They were. . . well taken. I don’t know how you knew about this, but . . . Thanks.” Branch smiled, one that tapped into a part of himself he hadn’t felt surface since he was a child. The warmth of it spread and before it could take hold, he shook himself and quickly grabbed the stack of boxes, dropping them and himself into the bunker.

Unbeknownst to himself, his smile is still wide as ever.

 

_**O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O** _

__

When he was sure Branch was gone, Creek unraveled his hair follicles from the tautened molds they’d taken while morphed into a makeshift heap of tangled twigs and dying leaves. Several times, Branch’s gaze had fallen on his hiding place, staring so long, Creek feared he’d been discovered.

That crazy, loveable, pessimistic dork nearly gave Creek a stroke when he thought the presents were likely bait from a bergen. The squeal he emitted couldn’t be contained, even as he bit his fist to keep from screaming out, “ _They’re from me you dimwitted twit!”_ But luck had been on his side and he had the fortune of watching Branch pull the ribbons and strings that tied the gifts shut.

The reactions were everything he could have asked for. The way Bracnh’s breath flew from his lips at the sight of the gloves left Creek just as breathless. He didn’t doubt he’d chosen the right gifts afterwards. The one he’d been most worried over was the tool chest and he kind of wished he could know ahead of time how Branch would respond to it before it opened. That could have gone two ways; either immense anger or joy.

It’d been based on a hunch, buying that for him. Creek once recalled seeing King Peppy gush over the quality of the tools and how he’d once had a very dear friend who had a similar set. With Branch being the handiest troll of all, Creek figured he could use his own kind. He’d even gone as far as to have Branch’s initial engraved into each tool.

But that face, oh that handsome face, Creek felt his heart galloping at the sight of that smile. It was a pure, real genuine smile; one that if witnessed by anyone else, would guarantee added competition for the grey troll’s affections. It’d been worth the efforts after all, all of it.

Creek rolled on his back, sighing satisfied as he folded his arms behind his head and stared at the sun’s rays peeking through the leaves. Now, what to do from here is the question. He showed how attentive he is to Branch’s needs.

Maybe what’s next is to prove he is all Branch needs.   _  
_

_**O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O** _

 

“Well hello there, Branch. Don’t you look spiffy in your new vest.”

Branch snorts under his breath, and keeps picking up sticks. This part of the woods was supposed to be too far away from the village for anyone to bother coming out here. The little pond behind him was where he’d planned to wash off his stained clothes too, but all those plans evaporated into a puff of smoke thanks to a certain troublesome troll.

Branch rights himself and schooled his features to boringly look over at Creek, nestled between the crook of a branch, legs crossed and fingers braided over his belly. He was wearing that infuriating smirk of his and that dashing hair lazily hung to the side like a river, adding to his already heightened sex appeal.

“Seriously, I had no idea you owned other clothes,” said Creek.

“What are you doing out here, Creek?” Branch lightly gibes, returning to his work. “Shouldn’t you be in the village eating crumpets and drinking tea?”

Creek’s laughter rung like fingers gliding over piano keys. “No, that’s for later actually. I happened to be taking a spiritual stroll through the woods when I happened across you, working. As usual, since the concept of doing anything else wouldn’t tickle your fancy.”

Branch didn’t bother acknowledging that statement with a reply. He had more important things to do today. Like working. For starters, he was behind on getting lumber since he’d spent most of last night and this morning trying to stitch up this catastrophe of a vest into something more presentable. Now it fitted better to his torso. He’d loosened the hem so that it came past his thighs and flared. The only reason he was even wearing the stupid thing was because he’d spilled jam on his regular vest.

Creek coolly coils his hair around his perch, then slips off, landing on his toes with far too much grace.  “So, the ole silent treatment, eh? You know that won’t work, Branch. When has it ever?”

Not a word.

_‘This’ll be fun.’_ Creek loved when Branch got like this. It made for teasing him all the more fun.

Creek absently hummed a rhythmic beat to himself and reached into his hair for his comb. He combed a lock of hair up and flipped his style up, bumping his shoulders as the hum gradually changed to lyrics. “ _Oh, you don't mean nothing at all to me. No, you don't mean nothing at all to me. But you got what it takes to set me free. Oh, you could mean everything to me.”_

Still nothing. Branch was determined to ignore him and of course, that simply won’t do. Creek circled around Branch’s personal space, poking at his sides and even hip bumping him as he carried on his whimsical assault.

_“I can't say that, I'm not lost and at fault.”_ Creek wriggled his hips, rolling his fists, swishing his hair, this way and that. He was gratified to see the tips of Branch’s black hair prickling with agitation. “ _I can't say that, I don't love the light and the dark. I can't say that, I don't know that I am alive.”_

“For the love of, really? Must you sing?!” Branch snaps in an aggrieved voice. He throws his sticks on the ground, thrusting a finger in Creek’s amused face. “My God, you’re like this bustling little fly determined to get swatted. Then you have the nerve to stand here trying to dance like no one’s watching!”

Branch expected Creek to glare at him and start their traditional argument, but instead he laughs softly, clasps Branch’s wrist and tugs him close. “You were watching, weren’t you? I dare say I had you a trance.” Their breaths tangled in the space between them. “If not by my pitiful footwork, then by my voice for sure. I dare you to deny it, mate, but then again, that’ll be a feat in itself won’t it? You’ve never been much of a liar.”

Branch was immediately reminded of those uncomfortable butterflies rollercoastering at the most inappropriate moments. This time being an unfortunate moment. But he toughed it out and sneered in Creek’s face.

“If I was caught up in watching so close, it’s because I wanted be sure what I was looking at is a troll and not a jelly spider sloshed on cider.”

“Ohhhhh, smooth burn, mate,” Creek compliments fairly and only the tightened grip on Branch’s wrist shows his dislike at the comment. “I almost felt the tingle of that one on my bum.”

“You’ll be feeling my foot there soon enough.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Creek says and his voice becomes a persuasive innuendo in turn. “Though you already know I won’t bend as fast as Guy. You deserve more of a challenge. I’m willing to accept that.”

Branch his cheeks color as the blood rushed up to his face because he knew this voice. He’d heard it so many times in his dreams, in his fantasies. He knew that voice is super untrustworthy. It wanted him happy and among other things, sensually pleasured. 

Creek’s eyelashes flutter obscenely, then he winks.

Branch narrowed his eyes. This must be a joke. Like heck he was going to subject himself to be the butt of anyone’s fun. “I swear to God, Creek, if you—”

Creek laid a finger on his lips. Branch was too shocked to do anything except stand there and go silent. “Has anyone ever told you you’re cute as a button when you’re mad?” Then to Branch’s horror, the purple devil presses his finger into Branch’s nose. “Boop.”

That’s it. That’s all of it.

Branch’s hair forms into dozens of thick ringlets and he slings his head forward, each taking hold of one of Creek’s limbs. The purple troll’s startled and squealing and petrified to find himself dangling above the small pond.

“Branch,” he growls warningly, looking between the troll on dry land and the super cold, super big, super wet pond below. His eyes grow wide when the hair threateningly loosens. “Don’t you dare! If you get my hair wet Branch, so help me!”

“Think I won’t?” Branch wiggles his victim, willing the ends of his hair to stretch closer to the pond.

Creek takes a long gulp, frantic eyes wild and angry. “You’d better not, Branch!”

Branch’s sudden smile is wicked. “Challenge accepted.”

Creek opens his mouth to say something else, and then he’s hitting the water with an almighty splash. He flounders under the water for a moment, his hair a suffocating cloud around him of tangling blue and brilliant green. Creek eventually finds his footing on some slippery rocks and rears upright, hair plastered on his face and head, water slushing off his body. The purple troll spins towards the shore to glare at his chortling adversary with one visible blue eye.

“You got my hair wet. . .” Creek snarls softly. “You bitter, lowdown, evil, conniving, crooked,” His voice’s interrupted by sputtering coughs of water. He sniffles and glares harder when Branch cradles his stomach from busting stitches. “Think that’s funny, do you?”

“It’s hysterical!” Branch falls on his back, feet kicking, fist pounding the ground. “You should—you should see your face. Oh God!”

Creek opened his curtain of hair, then pushes it back behind his shoulders. “Two can play at that, mate!”

In a single fluid motion, Creek’s head whips forward, a solid green rope snapping around the grey troll’s ankle. Branch blinks and gasps. “Wha— _whoa_! Wait Creek!” With a sharp wrench, he’s reeled into the water, screaming his head off.

The pond’s momentarily stained a murky black as Branch flops and thrashes. Meanwhile Creek’s doubled over crackling like a witch when Branch breaches the surface, starring in sheer disbelief at the purple troll while his black hair heavily sags around his shoulders. Creek folds his arms in silent triumphant a moment later, cocking his eyebrow.

“I can’t believe you!” Branch snaps, shocked. “Do you have any idea how long this’ll take to dry?”

Creek has the nerve to look offended. “Um, hello?” he gestures at his own damaged do. “You think I’m going to be able to fix this in a pinch? I don’t wake up looking glamourous. This takes work—!”

Branch shoves Creek underwater. He didn’t care about his excuses, he didn’t care about his trials of drying his own hair and he sure as spit didn’t care about how much fun this was. When Branch was perfectly satisfied with making Creek swallow enough water, he left the fool wallowing as he waded to shore.

“Stupid Creek. Stupid Jerk. Stupid, stupid, stupid, ugh!” Branch drops on his butt and removes his vest. It was completely soaked. And his hair. . . He mournfully pulls a handful around to examine the silky feeling and whimpers. It’ll take two full days for it to completely dry.

_‘At least Creek will suffer more’_ Branch thinks bemused, as the very object of his thoughts struggled to crawl out of the water, and came to flop next to Branch’s side, panting.

“I. . . I’m calling a . . . a truce. . .” Creek’s voice is muffled in the grass, so Branch isn’t entirely sure he interpreted that right, but hoped the idiot was wise enough to say just that.

Creek musters the strength to push himself into a sit and brings his hair around to wring out. “Whew, look at us. Geez, what a mess.” His bottom lip pokes out when his hair is too heavy to wring itself out. “My hair will be a knotted ruin.”

“Oh, shut up,” Branch grouches in his usual crabby manner. “You’ll comb it out and go back to being your same ole annoying, gorgeous self. Meanwhile, those of us who can’t find a single comb will be left to the tedious task of finger-combing this mess. . .” The mere thought left Branch feeling twice as surly. He props his chin on top of his fists and glares straight ahead.

Getting soaked to the bone was hardly Creek’s idea of fun. Especially in his hair. It was long and so difficult to detangle. Anytime it got wet, the threads kink and draw up into dense waves. Peeking over at Branch, Creek notices the grey troll goes through a similar change. His dark hair’s split and spread on top of his head, resembling a curly coxcomb.

The pair share a depressed sigh, look at each other, then stubbornly turn away.

Some moments pass in the distilled silence.

Every now and then, Creek cast subtle glances towards Branch and let eyes roam on his nude torso. It’s the most skin he’s ever seen at once so close. There’s so much more detail to appreciate, a bit more tone and shape to his muscles then Creek realized. It should’ve been a casual glance, but then his eyes lingered, absorbing all there was to Branch’s body, his face. It’s his face Creek studies the longest.

It was clear he was disappointed in the condition of his vest from the glances he kept sneaking it and the small touches he gave along the gilt edges. A warmth like hope blossomed in Creek’s chest. So, his gift was received better than he’d hoped. He like to think he was responsible for the longing so plainly obvious on Branch’s face. Some emotion. That’s good. Even a saddened one. It means he feels for other things.

The sudden crunch and swish of the grass alerts Branch that Creek is on the move. The grey troll looks as Creek stands and strides to stand behind him.

Branch reflexively tenses. “What are you up to?”

“Shut it, will you?” Creek grabs a handful of hair and begins tugging and pulling it in three separate sections. “If you haven’t the common sense to braid your hair, like any sensible troll would when their hair’s wet, just be grateful I care enough to do it for you.” Each word is sharply punctuated with a sharper-then-necessary yank on the black hair.

Struck mute for the second time today, Branch simply stares into the space between his crossed legs while nimble fingers tended to his messy head. And just like that, he felt a little guilty. Branch would have felt better if they’d fallen back into their usual routine of arguing, exchanging insults and stomping away mad. Not this. Creek was offering help and here Branch had no intentions of returning the favor at the time, but now? Well, he could, but what exactly could he do? He sucked doing hair. That’s why he never bothered styling his own. It was just hair to him.

“Thank you,” Branch murmurs.

“Don’t mention it.” With a final tug, the large plait’s left to curve back in a hook on Branch’s head and Creek returns to his place next to Branch’s side.

Branch reaches up to grab the woven length down to the tiniest end where even the lose strands are braided. His jaw clenches, then he blows an irritable sigh, flicking the hair over his shoulder and snaps his face at Creek, scowling. “Want me to, um.” He scratches behind his head, then points at Creek’s head.

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” Creek chuckles, shrugging. “Braiding won’t work on my head anyway. I need a full crew to work on these luscious locks.”

Branch laughs a little too. Then he quiets. They fall into another extended silence, less tension and much more at ease. The flutters start to penetrate deep in Branch’s belly with the intensity of a whirlwind. This isn’t normal. This—whatever—God, he almost likes it.

“Creek?”

“Hmm?”

Branch tries to get it out before he loses his nerve. “What are you up to?”

Creek frowns, confused. “As far as. . .?”

Branch’s mouth thins into a line, blinks at the ground, then back at Creek. “I dunno. I just got this feeling that you’re up to something.”

“Ha, I probably am. You never know what to expect from either of us, mate.”

“No, you don’t get it. I mean. . .” How could he word this without coming off as so girly? “Well, you’re being nice and weird and flirting.”

Creek gawks. “Flirting?!”  

“Oh, come off it, man,” Branch says. “I’m not so recluse I can’t recognize when I’m being hit on.”

Creek hadn’t thought he’d been coming off that strong. He folds his knees up to his chest, eyes nervously skating over the ground. He didn’t know what to say. Heck, what could he say? His eyes peer up at Branch and the sharp demand in his gaze is fixed on Creek like nothing else in the world matters outside of his explanation.

“It’s complicated,” he voices after a time, wringing his hands.

“Make it uncomplicated then.” Branch’s hand lifts towards the other troll and hovers in the air, unsure, then he takes the chance and lays it on Creek’s shoulder. The skin there’s hot from the sunshine and it feels good. Breathing air in his nose, Branch releases it with words that push the butterflies into his stomach. “Because, I gotta know if. . . I mean, what I’m feeling. . . it’s strange. . . because of you—”

A muffled exclamation is heard behind them. “Oh, am I interruptin’?”  

Creek’s very blood boiled. He whips his head around and pins the intruder with icy blue eyes. The stupid git knew very well he was interrupting and what rotten timing. He mockingly mimics the glittery troll in secret and stares at the pond, face scrunched in a flat frown.

“Branch, you have a moment?” Guy Diamond shyly came up with his hands behind his back, looking less of his outgoing self and more like a sheltered troll. “I have something for you.”

This piques Branch’s interest. However, he squeezes Creek’s shoulder and gives him a little shake. “Come on,” he urges, and stands, then holds out the same hand to help the purple troll to his feet.

Guy Diamond blinks between the pair, noticing something. “You’re soaked,” he plainly states.

“Yeah, a fight,” Branch tilts his head towards Creek. “No one got hurt. Except our egos and our hair.”

“Typical,” Guy Diamond slyly mutters, dismissing Creek’s presence in one glance and walks up to Branch. “For you.” He pulls his arms around to reveal a colorful lei, neatly arranged in a pattern of white ginger flowers, blue orchids, and dusty pink plumeria. He beckons Branch to lean over and he does, letting the flower arrangement be set around his neck.

“Wow, thanks,” Branch says. He fingers the blossoms and lifts it to his nose. “It smells nice. So, is this your apology for yesterday?”

Guy Diamond cups his hands behind his back, toeing at the ground. “Yeah, and to, ya know, try and convince you to change your mind about us.”

“Us?” Creek pipes up, astounded, looking between the two. “There’s something going on here?”

“No!” Branch hurriedly eliminates that possibility. “There’s nothing.” He should properly wonder why he needed to confirm that for Creek.

Guy Diamond folds his arms. “Not yet anyway. If he’s willing to accept my _gifts_ ,” he winks here and smiles at the surprise on Branch’s face, “I think he may reconsider.”   

Creek’s mouth hangs open. He chokes a short laugh, then it turns into a full-blown laugh.

Guy Diamond looks down his nose at the purple troll. “Somethin’ funny?”

“Are you kidding me? We’re playing this then?” Creek says, sobering. “I’m guessing our discussion didn’t quite reach that empty head of yours, did it?”

“Oh, it did, but you’re not used to people ignoring you. This is what it feels like.”

Branch steps back, suddenly feeling caught between something.

“You want to go there with me, Guy?”

Guy Diamond shrugs a shoulder. “Sure, if you want. But I must warn you, you may be used to dropping one or two trolls. That’s nothing on what this body can do.”

“It’s like you want me to hurt you.”

Every single strand of white hair on Guys Diamond’s head pricks into needle points. “Go ‘head and try it, I was wondering if you’re all words or action anyway.”

Wet as his hair was, Creek didn’t let that stop him from stepping into Guy Diamond’s face. “Bring it then!”

“It’s been brought!”

Branch nearly rolled his eyes heavenward. Was he getting a migraine. It sure felt like it. “Screw this.” Let the idiots fight. If it’s for the reason he’s thinking, and trust he was beyond flattered, he didn’t want to stick around to see what happens. He’s no one’s prize.

Branch walks away to leave the two to their arguing. He has a ton of crap to think over and he wasn’t going to get the peace he needed from listening to those two go at it.  And he needs to get this stupid braid out of his head.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come guys! I hope you had fun reading this as much as I did writing it lol.


	3. Your Kisses Are Sweet. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so very much for reading. Here's Chapter 3. Enjoy! Please excuse any mistakes.

**Your Kisses Are Sweet. . .**

Poppy staggers as she leans back to catch the garish glittered envelope before it disappeared amongst the storm of other letters, mostly invitations or proposals she ignored from well respecting trolls. The princess—and by some extension, the king—have grown accustom to receiving varied cards that offered miscellaneous requests. She knew by sight which ones to dismiss and which to take seriously. Most of the other letters and cards and invites were far more embellished with scrap paper, glow-in-the-dark stickers or glitzy lettering. It’s why she didn’t hesitate to run inside her and her father’s pod, to her bedroom and locked her door to read what she knew would be a threat upon her life.

Poppy nervously held the envelope out, eyes narrowing splinter-thin. Sure enough, there wasn’t a blank space where the signature should have been. She almost gave into the desire to roll her eyes, but knew it wasn’t well-mannered for a happy princess to indulge in such childish contortions. If he was going to send a death threat, at the very least, he could have owned up to it.

She got a pair of scissors, slid it through the crease and pulled it open, flipping it open and took the verbal abuse.

 ** _“You vile, despicable, busybody”_** — Poppy took offense to the last one ** _—“impertinent, meddler, rubberneck, snoop—”_**

Poppy gasps, outraged. “I am not a snoop!” She snaps at the recording then settles on her canopy bed, pouting. “Hmmph, call me a snoop. The nerve.”

Creek’s voice continued its oral assault as if her feelings weren’t of any consequence, **_“You’re so far dead, you don’t even know it yet!”_** A sigh gusts through the tiny speaker. **_“Had I known you were involved. . . actually scratch that, I should have_ known _you were involved. Who else but you would assume it’s a brilliant idea to incite violence in the name of love. You conniving woman. It should be against the law the lengths you go to play matchmaker. I’ve got an eye so black that no amount of make-up could assist in the excuse I’m still trying to think of when people ask what happened!”_**

The princess snickers into her hand, thinks better of it, then bursts into hearty laughter. After seeing Guy Diamond less than an hour ago, she already knew that the two had thrown blows. But judging by the missing patches of glitter on Guy Diamond’s body, he’d gotten the worse end of that scuffle. It was then and there he relinquished all claims and attempts towards Branch because he’d no inkling of how strong Creek was until really angered.   

**_“I had to beat the shine out of Guy’s behind before he confessed to your oh-so-clever plan. Guess what, love? Your failure has reached epic proportions. Branch’s likely too mad to look us in the eye again. He stomped off in a huff and didn’t look back. He wouldn’t even answer my letters or my knocks. So, I’m_ ** **actually permitting _you to fix this catastrophe you caused and I mean right now! Do it or suffer a level of pain that’s indiscernibly the worse you will ever experience. You wicked, wicked, wicked, pink minx!”_**

The record’s off stabbed so viciously, Poppy flinched back in case the electric connections exploded in her face. She’d nearly chewed her bottom lip raw to keep from falling into hysterics. Creek thought Branch was adorable when he was mad? He has nothing on Creek’s heated mouth. Still, she knew she was responsible. She hadn’t anticipated it going as far as Guy and Creek getting into a fight. Maybe she underestimated Guy Diamond’s feelings for Branch.

Oh well, that’s why she had a branched off plan for him anyway. Poppy figured he wouldn’t last long. She owes him a hand in love and a month’s worth of pineapple upside-down cheesecake and sugar cookies.

Now then, it’s up to Poppy to come up with a way to fix this mess.

She’d bet a basket of chocolate chip cookies to a chest of raisinets, that Creek will come around tomorrow expecting retribution for his suffering. Poppy knew she owed to him, but needed some grand, marvelous, stupendous kind of way to apologize. Something super unexpected, something so-so out of nowhere that even he’ll be left too speechless to remember that he owes her a good trouncing.

“Muffin?”

Poppy glances up. She’d long since left her bedroom to the kitchen to start on her first batch of sugar cookies. She held a spoon above the bowl after stirring the contents to a thick, smooth batter. If she mixed it just right, there’ll be more of a creamy aftertaste then the grainy kind she despised.

It was a pleasant surprise to see her father standing in the doorway to their kitchen. He never comes here, claiming he felt out of place and in the way since his motor skills weren’t what they used to be. Maybe it’s good he’s decided to step out of his element for a change. It means he’s having a wonderful day.

“Morning Dad, how are you?” Poppy made sure to block the heat of the oven with her body in case it was too much for him to bear.

“I’m fine my dear. It’s just, I found this in your room,” King Peppy said, holding out the voice recording letter, “and got a little worried. _Should_ I be worried?”

 “Oh.” Poppy cleared her throat when noticing it’s Creek’s letter. In her absent thinking, she’d left it behind. “Right, um,” she hoped her father hadn’t heard the more graphic parts of the letter because that’ll send his already tattered mind into a state of shock. “That’s from Creek. I kind of sort of may have ruined his love life to a certain degree and I’m trying to figure out a way to fix it.”

King Peppy switched his cane from the left to his dominant hand as he came in the kitchen with a small snort. “Oh, well that’s alright then. I thought you two were scrapping about who made the better crumpets or something. Goodness knows you two can hold a grudge worthy of a bergen.”

“You don’t think I’m wrong then?”

“Not at all. Friends tend to help one another to the best of their abilities,” he chuckles, hopping on one of the dinner chairs. He looks at the envelope with strange interest before flicking it on the tabletop. A drawn-out pause comes after he emits a huff that usually comes before he’s about to give a lecture. “I’ve been in your shoes once. Had to fix it too.”

This time, Poppy’s curious enough to stick around and listen. “You did? I mean, how? Was it as bad as mine?”

Her father gave her an unreadable expression for long moments, then murmurs, “Worse. Much worse. I ruined his life.”

“Really?” Poppy asks eagerly, occupying the seat across from her father. “How did you do that? Was it really that awful?”

King Peppy went silent a shorter time then the last, hands wringing over the ball of his cane. Poppy took the opportunity to study the lines developing around the edge of his eyes and the sides of his lips. They appeared so much more pronounced then they had a moment ago. Is what he done that terrible?

“Please understand that I mean no ill regard to your mother when I say this, Poppy. I loved her more than life itself. More than the very breath I breathe.”

“Of course, Dad. You never let a day go by to tell me,” but she couldn’t understand why that was so important now. Unless. . . “Dad, did you—did you have an affair on Mom?”

“No!” King Peppy immediately affirms. “Never, your mother didn’t deserve such cruelty. This was before her.” King Peppy blew air through his nose that wiggled his thick mustache. “I had a friend during our time back at the Troll Tree. We were very close. A hard worker, he was. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix, nothing he couldn’t invent at the drop of a hat. Whatever was needed, he’d only need a moment to get the tools and create it.”

King Peppy pressed a hand over his heart, closing his eyes. “Oakley was his name I think, curse my old mind for not being entirely sure, but I do remember how he looked. That I can never forget, no matter how deluded my brain gets at times,” he chuckles humorously at that before going on in a voice saturated with affection. “His colors were unlike anything I ever admired; skin as green as a shamrock and hair as yellow and soft as marigolds. Then those eyes, eyes that practically glowed like bits of charcoal whenever he was up to mischief.”

Poppy doesn’t have the heart to feel disconcerted with her father’s description of this troll, too raptured by her father’s voice and the peacefulness resting on his face. “Sounds like you really liked him.”

“I, um, well, I did.”

 _‘How cute,’_ Poppy nearly squeals. Her father was blushing. She didn’t think someone as regal as him could do such a thing.  

“I was taken by him,” King Peppy went on to say. “He could out-dance me, out-sing me, out-charm me, everything. It wasn’t long before your grandparents discovered I had a wicked love for him the day he came to my unannounced pod bearing woo gifts. . .” His hands clutched at his cane without warning, the strain so tight, his knuckles drained of color. “Oakley was older than I. I was maybe sixteen and he was about twenty or twenty-one. Anyway, long story short, my parents weren’t comfortable with her relationship. They demanded I shiver the relationship before it got too far. At the same time, Oakley had approached me that very night demanding more than what we had. He sought permanency, something I couldn’t give him.”

“Oh Dad,” Poppy reached over to take his hand and kiss his knuckles before rubbing them against her cheek. “Why not? It sounds like you two were in love.”

“We were, but I was scared. I didn’t know anything about mating or wooing or the likes. My parents were pressuring me and he was too. It was so. . . so much easier to let him go. I just went about it the wrong way.”

“How did you?”

“I,” King Peppy swallows thickly, “I made him feel like less of a troll, said there was no way he was worthy enough to be a prince’s mate. He was older and shouldn’t have been going after someone so young. He was a humble laborer and I was royalty, why did he think he deserved my hand. . .”

“Dad, how could you?”

“I know, Poppy. Believe me, forty years later and I’m still reeling over what I did to him.”

Poppy eventually placed her hand over her chest too, which was thumping at the revelation. “Whatever happened to Oakley?”

“He found another mate a few years later.” King Peppy shrugs. “I know they had two pods together, two daughters. One of them got on with another and it’s history from there. But I tell you this so that you can possibly rectify two problems in one.”

“How so?”

King Peppy raised his hand to his hair, shuffling through sheets of fading red tangles until his fingers came back coiled around a blemished platinum hug bracelet. It’d seen better days, the edges tampered and weathered with age, other parts barely hanging on to its original shine. Poppy slipped it from his fingers to examine closer. The design’s exquisite, skillfully handcrafted with white gold trimmings.

“It’s beautiful,” Poppy breathes in awe.

King Peppy nods. “I had that made for Oakley when I came of age. I was foolish to believe I could win him over. He’d been so furious that night, he sent me away. I was too late to claim him back. I didn’t have the heart to ruin his life a second time.”

“But why give it to me?”

King Peppy lifted his head, an old shine in his cherry red eyes. “So that Creek can give it to his grandson for me. I have a feeling that it’ll set things right again.”

 

**O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O**

 

Creek takes a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He had to deliver this gift to Creek himself since he refuses to miss the grey troll’s reaction and from there, he intended to express what his true feelings were.

It’s been over two weeks. He hoped it was enough time for Branch to get over his annoyance towards him. It normally doesn’t take so long, but with what Creek has planned, he couldn’t afford anymore blunders. He only wishes he knew that this gift would work out ahead of time. Poppy is certain that it will.

He shakes his head, and walks onwards.  It’s Sunday, the one day out of the week that Branch actually ventures into the village. He takes it upon himself to help Mrs. Dahlia with her seven grandchildren so that she can enjoy a quiet day to herself. Not many knew Branch for his chivalry, but Creek did. It’s one of his better qualities.

Branch wouldn’t be expecting him to show. Creek didn’t want to be turned away, not when his emotions were literally shot to spit—and yet, glancing down at the hand sized package fondly cradled in his hands—Creek decides the risk is worth taking.  He simply hopes the gift works in the manner that was beneficial for both of them.

_‘Stop it. You’re here and he’s here and you will give it to him. It’s too late to regret your choice now.’_

Very much too late. Creek lifts his chin and crosses the last few steps to the low hanging vanilla white and peach colored pod. He knocks twice. He can faintly hear the whimsical pitches of giggles and chortling. It’s much too tame in there for it be full of children. Creek prays Branch doesn’t have the poor things dangling by their underwear or gagged with their own hair.

“Just a sec!” He soon hears from the other side of the door.

Creek’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline in tune to his stomach doing sharp somersaults. That was Branch. ‘ _Here goes nothing.’_

The doorway peels away to reveal Branch with a colorful child slung over each shoulder, another who’s naked bottom was visibly poking out of his black hair, two more wrapped around each ankle and the last two tucked under his armpits. His signature scowl is flawlessly chiseled into his face, not a stitch of fun or happiness, but then again, Creek wouldn’t be either, trying to control this bunch.

Branch’s very much irritated and the expression’s too adorable not to smile at.

“Don’t think for an instant I won’t hurt you because these kids are here,” Branch warns. He cocks his head back to properly hold the one on his head better.

Something akin to hope blossoms in Creek’s chest. At least Branch doesn’t seem to be too mad at him. “You wouldn’t be violent in front of kids, would you?”

“Are you kiddin’ me? These brats are more bloodthirsty then a bergen—Aspen, bite me again and I’ll rip your hair out from the roots!”

The chubby green skinned, purple haired boy gnawing on Branch’s ankle promptly balls his lips and ducks his face behind his foot.

After casting a menacing glare at the child, Branch dully uses the same look to scrutinize Creek. Creek didn’t believe he’d be allowed in until Branch jerked his chin for the other to come enter. It takes every ounce of Creek’s willpower not to pump his fist. He holds it together as he comes in, shutting the door behind him.

It looks like a candy land warzone. Toys, blankets, coloring paper and tissue were shattered throughout the living room. Turned over juice cartons were piled in the wastebasket along with numerous used diapers and graham cracker wrappings. It smells unbearably sweet in there too, like a fog of cooked sugar hanging in the air.

“This devil did that,” Branch mentions, assumedly noticing Creek’s nostrils flare to the scent and gestures to the short, plum-purple and yellow haired child tucked under his arm. “He thought it’d be fun to spray his grandmother’s air fresher like silly string.” The kid has the nerve to bat his eyes innocently.

Creek puts his package in his hair after examining the room with a critical eye. “Need any help?”

“Yeah,” Branch confesses, irked to his wits end. “Could you clean up here? I gotta give these kids a bath before their nap.”

“No!” the seven tyrants wailed and began to struggle. “No bath!”

“Like heck you psychotic scamps won’t. All of you _will drown_ in soap and water. That I promise!”

 “No bath, Bwanchie!” The oldest girl cries and proceeds to yank his hair.

“Hey!” he snaps. “If you demons don’t behave, I promise you’ll all be sporting red butts. Try me!”

A few seconds pass of obedient silence. The prospect of a spanking must be a terrifying remedy they knew about. Creek disguised his laugh as a cough behind his fist when Branch shot him a daring glare. Creek shrugs a shoulder, winks, then starts working on tidying up the living room.

While Branch wrestled the kids into their afternoon pajamas, Creek managed to clean the living room to some semblance of a habitable dwelling. Toys were neatly organized, blankets were folded in a corner and the trash is taken out. By the time he’s finish, Branch is placing the children in a semi-circle, then gives each one their own coloring book with three crayons each.

He flops in a rocking chair and sinks until his chin smashes into his chest. Creek crouches next to his seat, nodding towards the children. “You’re not bad with them,” he quietly comments.

“I hate kids,” Branch deadpans. “If I didn’t owe Dahlia a favor, I wouldn’t bother giving myself these weekly headaches. It’s hardly worth it for so little in return.”

“I don’t think so. Mrs. Dahlia gets to savor the beauty of silence and tranquility.”

“Right?” Branch sighs longingly. “There’s nothing like it.”

They take a moment to let it settle in. Outside of the childish murmurs and the occasional cheer from some imaginary adventure, the children aren’t too demanding. Branch doesn’t say much to Creek during his stay there. When the time comes for story time, Branch’s surrounded by the kids and they’re all hanging off his every word, voice pouring over the words the way satin glides in water. Even Creek’s caught up in the illustrations and descriptions when Branch would act out the parts.

Minutes before Mrs. Dahlia’s due home, Creek has one of the children resting in his arms and another nestled against his side, reading a book. “You’re willing to do just about anything to calm these kids, huh?”

“I’ll try anything if it works out,” Branch grumbles. “Not that I mind too much when I have services this good. The littlest brat’s not too bad.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the youngest girl, Rosemary, a sweetheart with chestnut brown skin and cornflower blue hair, who is standing behind him, brushing his hair with avid dedication. Since she was more hooked on him then the rest, he let her play in his hair. Anything to shut her up.

Creek snorts. “I see you’re about as gallant with girls as a stomp.”

“That’s right.”

Creek cocks an eyebrow, bends back a little, then suddenly grins evilly. “That’s why you don’t mind her putting peach oil in your hair?”

Light blue eyes widen. “Wha—gah, you little!” One snatch and sniff of his hair was all Branch needed to confirm it. “You took advantage of me because I wasn’t looking, didn’t you?!” He swats viciously at her, missing by a mile as she danced away giggling and blowing kisses. Branch shakes his fist at her. “Yeah, you better run and don’t come back or I swear I’ll spank your butt raw!”

Creek bursts out laughing, ruefully shaking his head. He reaches to catch Branch’s hand when one of the kids kicks him in the shin. It won’t do to have Mrs. Dahlia to come back and find her grandchildren thrown all over the place. She luckily returns with bountiful thanks and a batch of mini-peach pies for Branch to take home. It doesn’t help improve his mood during his trek out of the village. Creek’s kept him company during his walk home, silent so as to not draw too much attention to himself before Branch realizes that Creek’s following him.

The quiet stroll was satisfactory though. During the small journey through the woods, Creek got to admire how the afternoon sun color subdued the empty grey shades of Branch’s skin to a comely amber.

It didn’t suit him in the manner Creek imagined it would. A cooler color would fit him better. That hair, of course, Creek definitely believed will stay dark and soft and satiny.

“You got a reason for following me all the way out here?” Branch said.

Creek jerks his eyes up as if startled from a deep thought, which he was, but the level of perversity he was entering makes him glad those thoughts were interrupted. Then he remembers to scowl because that what he’s meant to do whenever Branch approaches him with an aggressive tone.

“I’m free to do as I please. Since when is it inappropriate to walk a friend home?” Creek coolly replies.

“That’d be believable if we were friends, but we aren’t.”

“Says you.”

“Right, says me.”

That spunk of his is simply _divine_. Creek resisted the urge to chew his bottom lip in glee and opted for a contented smirk. “If it helps you sleep better chum, go on believing it.”

Branch sucks his teeth, adding speed to his stride once spotting the rock marking the entrance to his bunker. Creek stops short a few feet and suddenly remembers he’d had a mission to complete and today would be the today to do it. He silently berated himself for admiring Branch’s physical attributes, namely his firm butt, instead of inwardly coaching himself on what best to say for this ultimate moment. But seeing as Branch has the patience of a bumblebee, there’s no time like the present.

“Branch.”

Branch turns around, expectantly raising an eyebrow, and a skeptical wrinkle on his brow, as if readying himself for a quarrel. He didn’t manage to disguise the underlying anxiety that Creek did recognize whenever he was around him. If this works out, it’ll be one of the first things Creek immediately puts to rest in their relationship.

Creek’s fingertips danced over the sides of the package in his grasp, accidentally luring Branch’s eyes there instead of to his face. Nerves were shooting from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair like glittery firecrackers.

Where is that ever bold and spontaneous courage he’d conjured up earlier today?

Creek didn’t notice Branch advancing until his hand landed on Creek’s shoulder. The muscle there tensed beneath his touch and the reaction’s so fascinating. It’s the very first time Branch has ever willfully touched Creek without aggression. It sends a kind of electric wavy fire in the pit of his stomach and surges to the round of his cheeks.

“What’d you bring me this time?” Branch was a smiling a little, and looking at Creek with a knowing edge.

Creek blanches when the words strike home. “You—you knew? How did, but I didn’t!” Then he remembers a certain detail and his eyes are thin as leave blades. “Of course. That bloody blabbermouth. It wasn’t enough to nearly ruin my plans, but to reveal me so soon? I am going to _devour_ Guy’s soul.”

“It wasn’t just him. You have yourself to blame too.” At Creek’s confusion, Branch elaborates while stroking his chin. “You’re not the most astute troll around. The day after we met at the pond, I started searching through the forest. I’d already ruled Guy out as the likely suspect. He never struck me as the type to go to such lengths. So, I investigated the general area, thinking that if I went out of my way to give such amazing gifts, I’d want to be around to see how the one being given the gifts would react. I mean, who wouldn’t right? That’s a lot of effort to put in and not make sure it goes well”

Creek nods a bit. He could agree to that.

“So, I asked myself, what’s a good viewpoint to my bunker? Lo and behold, I spotted three spots, but one stood out to me.” Branch dramatically pauses, then extends his index finger up and to the left. “That spot there is where I would be most comfortable to stalk someone andddd I found a few strands of your hair left in the bark.” To prove it, Branch reaches into his back pocket to wave several burnish colored strands in the air. “Gotcha.”

Creek shrugs irritably and wishes he could feel as uncaring as he appears at being caught. “So, what if you did, what now then?”

“I was hoping you could tell me that.” Branch keeps his voice soft and neutral and flings the hair to the wind. He comes just another step closer, eyes locked onto Creek with a burning conviction and without any regard to the way his breath brushed against Creek’s cheek. “Years of animosity isn’t gonna disappear overnight. If that’s what it ever was between us. The way things have turned these past couple of weeks, make me wonder if it’s really hatred or some weird, subconscious way we show affection.”

“We?” Creek repeats wearily. "You mean that. . . you too?"

Branch shrugs a shoulder, ducking his head. “I’m still trying to figure it out.” Branch tries a smile, but it comes off more like a grimace or a pained flinch. “Somewhere in here,” he gestures towards his chest, “there lies more of a confused troll that sees Creek as this pompous, egotistical, conceited, sharp-witted, caring, bold, dapper kind of guy. And attractive,” he swiftly adds. “I’m not blind to that. I’d be an idiot to ignore the way you turn heads.”

A soft smile flickers on the corners of Creek’s lips. Then a sigh empties from his lips and he reaches up to grasp Branch’s wrist where it rests on his shoulder. “One of your most admirable and vexatious qualities,” he chuckles and his cheek drifts to nuzzle their connected touch, “is how you always manage to keep me on my toes. I never know what to expect. I love it.”

Creek lightly tilts his head at Branch’s studying gaze and the searching there makes him feel like his soul’s being thoroughly examined for fault or deceit. Creek contently closes his eyes. _‘Maybe now, up close, he can see what I have stored in my heart for him. Not that I want to disguise it now, or ever again for that matter. I think the time for hiding has past now. . . I’m so glad.’_

Creek starts when he feels Branch’s calloused hand sweep his cheek in its hold and guides him up to face him fully. Light eyes like placid cobalt glass pierced him deep and intense and beautifully. “Think you can make me happy again?”

Air sucks into Creek’s lungs like water through a drain. “If it takes me all my life,” he answers breathless and in awe of Branch’s face so close. “To see you laugh and joke and dance has been a dream of mine for so long. So-so very long.”

Branch bends down and holds his lips a breath away from Creek’s own. The rising tension builds up to dizzying sensations. The grey troll’s scent, the heat from his every small pant and the overwhelming ambiance he eludes. Creek shivers and resists the desire to initiate the kiss first. Not just yet.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, stepping back out of Branch’s grasp. Being so close to him will make Creek forget his objective for today. “I need to give you this first.” Then he tenderly presents the package out to Branch with a pinning stare. “Before we go any further.”

Branch retires his hand to his side, clenching it to discard the warmth of Creek’s cheek. “You say it like it’ll change things.”

“It’s something you may love or hate me for,” Creek utters dead serious, gently laying the gift in Branch’s hands.

Branch blinks at it, frowning. Then says, “Guess that’s for me to decide, yeah?” And is reaching for the string securely fastened at its center.

The wrapping falls away like silk in Branch’s hand and he saw the way the air caught in Branch’s throat when he saw the shiny bracelet. He looks it over, all the while as if he’d never seen a hug bracelet like this one. There are hundreds more much more exquisite and rare and gorgeous, but Creek thought this one was in a class of its own.

It’s always been obvious when the gears were spinning in Branch’s head. His eyes would lower, the color will sharpen and cloud and the lines around his mouth would deepen with avid concentration.

“What is this?” Branch holds it up between them, the tone in his voice making the question a definite distinction for what he really meant.

Creek clears his throat and quickly recites the story Poppy told him about King Peppy’s whirlwind romance with one they called Oakley. He didn’t skate over the details nor hide how far the love had gone because he felt that such a story deserved to be admired, not hated. But the story was brief, there were no questions and Creek allowed the information to sink in. Branch didn’t mumble a sound. Only his flickering eyes and flexing brow relayed every emotion that swept through them.

After a terribly long silence following the story, Branch gives a shuddering sigh, clutching the bracelet in his fist. His lips pulsed like he’d tasted something foul, then marginally stretches into a genuine smile.

“My grandma used to tell me stories,” he starts softly, “about this funny couple of trolls who loved each other like no other. Said it was the kind of love they wrote songs about. I always thought she was referring to herself and grandpa. . . But after hearing this, there’s no way it could have been anyone else.”

Branch held the bracelet in both hands. Then he looks up at Creek and says, “Why give this to me?”

Creek takes a few delicate steps closer. “I meant what I said about doing whatever it takes to make you happy, even if it meant possibly losing that chance by giving you this. I couldn’t have known how you’d take it after all.”

Branch smiles wider, a dazzlingly gorgeous look that brings a radiance about him. It’s a wonder more than himself and Guy Diamond haven’t pursued him. If they ever got a gander at Branch’s handsome smile, there’d no doubt be competition all over the place. Then again, perhaps there’s a reason why they’ve never seen him smile like this.

Creek feels very honored to be granted this gift.

Suddenly, a capricious melody spills into the air. Creek feels his wrist warm from his hug bracelet in sequence to a silvery green glow emitting from Branch’s palms. The tiny lily petals circling the pearl sparkles like strong starlight.

Creek smirks. “Hug time.”

Branch’s pupils dilate till little of the blue remained. His gaze flickers sideways at Creek with his arms hesitantly open, waiting.

“I got a better idea,” Branch whispers and he reaches out sliding the back of his knuckles down Creek’s face and lower to grip the tip of his chin. “Something sweeter than a hug.”

Creek sucks in a deep breath, as if there were little left to spare. He wanted to bury his head deep in the ground for losing his composure, but darn it if Branch wasn’t working him like a violin. But two can play it cool.

Creek drapes his arms on his shoulders. “Oh yeah, like what?”

“Mmm, I’ve never been a troll of many words. I can show you better.”

Creek wants to purr, but there’s no way he is losing any more of his poise. He opts to nuzzle his nose against Branch’s and it works in charming Branch nearer. “I was wondering when you’d get the nerve.”

Branch dips his head forward and presses his lips to Creek’s.

Creek thought his excitement would center, but oh the feel of his lips at long last, struck a sharp jolt in his knees and he buckles. If not for Branch tightening his arm around the purple troll, Creek would be pudding in the grass. Creek still trembles and shut his eyes and concentrates on the slow, expert slid of Branch’s lips on his and the bold tap of his tongue. A thrilling fire bursts in Creek’s belly, roiling like coming thunder and he opens his mouth to welcome in the teasing licks and probing.

How long had he let himself be tortured with dreams of feeling this grumpy jerk’s arms around him, to fit against his body in a way that no one else will ever experience? It’s become more than he could have ever wished. It was more than a simple touch of lips. It was wave of starving relief and happy surrender that thrummed in them. The painful need was shown through Branch’s near-suffocating squeeze and Creek didn’t mind it at all. And he didn’t mind the way his rough hand was gliding over the small of his back, grabbling at his skin.

“Oh Branch,” Creek raggedly says. “Yes love, I’ve wanted this. . . for. . . mmmm—so long.” He tries fruitlessly to speak, but it seems Branch has better plans for his mouth.

“Yeah,” Branch breathlessly muses against Creek’s ear, still tracing humid lines with his lips, “I never realized how much kissing you would solve so much of my turmoil. _Finally_ , _oh_ _these lips._ ” Branch captures Creek’s lips again, harder and hungry, taking deep kisses and switching some light kisses on Creek’s cheek, his chin, his jaw and nose.

Branch’s eagerness becomes a little overwhelming and Creek steps back to clear his throat and mind. But Branch won’t have it. Not after having a taste. He keeps his grasp firm.

“Come mere,” he murmurs. “I’m not done getting my suga’.”

Creek pushes at his chest and outs out a weary breath. “In a moment love, let me—whew, let me get my breath.” He chuckles and runs his knuckles over Branch’s cheek. “You’re something else. Hmmph, who would’ve ever guessed us two together? I’m still reeling from it.”

Branch rubs his lips to Creek’s palm. “We need to get out of the open.”

Creek stops his caressing to frown. “Why?” He jerks when Branch angles his lower half to align with his. . . “Oh. . . OH!” He blushes violently. “Well then, ahem, then we should probably take care of that then.”

Branch lets his head fall back and laughs. It’s the most beautiful sound. “I wasn’t about to let you leave here beforehand. Not after having a taste of what you got.”

Creek laughs. “Is the grumpy pessimist suddenly a pervert? Should I be worried? Whoa!” Creek suddenly rears up to the tips of his toes when he feels a hand land on his behind and squeeze. He gawks.

Branch winks, walking backwards with Creek in tow. He fits his toe through the latch hook and lifts the trap door. “Creek?”

“Hmm?”

A pause, then, “Don’t come in unless you’re serious. I’m not about to set myself up for. . . more heartache.”

Creek’s mouth twists. “As if I’d go through the trouble of wooing you for the sake of dumping you. Shut that foolish talk and take me down there. You’ve got years of ravishing to make up for.”

Branch didn’t need to be told twice. He winks and inches backwards until they’re both falling below.

And falling. . .

. . . Creek wasn’t prepared for the painful landing and made sure to slap Branch across the head for being so bloody stupid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left. Stay tuned for more. Thanks so much for reading this. You guys motivate me!


	4. . . .And I Truly Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final chapter everyone. From the bottom of my heart, I want to thank every single one of you who have given this story a chance to read. Please enjoy the final chapter!

**. . . And I Truly Love You**

 

Trust is a difficult sentiment to place on another and for Branch, who’s fiercely guarded his heart from anyone. He allowed nothing to penetrate his walls, and even during his relationship with Creek, old habits kept Branch from completely opening up to him. Yet, Creek didn’t push or complain outside of their usual spats and disagreements.

Creek’s been more than what Branch expected.

Far more.

The friendship he openly denied between them flourished, kittling their blooming romance. They learned from each other, and grew to yearn for each other’s company to the point where living separately was no longer a matter of choice. They moved into a new pod seven months later and that night, Creek declared his love for Branch.

Branch hadn’t said it back. Creek didn’t expect him too. It was too soon after all. Branch still hadn’t gained his colors and the insecurities didn’t really sink in until a full year had past. Creek worried that he probably couldn’t keep his vow of making Branch happy. But each time he dared to give up, his supportive friends would remind him that he has what it takes. And so, Creek secretly endured the strain of dealing with Branch’s refusal to let anyone too close.

Branch wasn’t blind to the shadows developing over Creek’s eyes whenever they saw each other. The oppressing emotions that lied buried beneath his falsified cheer and Branch knew it was his fault. He wanted so much to be the troll Creek imagined, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Fear gripped at him like bergen claws, evilly dragging a chilly dread that refused to leave him. It froze him to his core. He couldn’t let it happen again. . . Never again.

Until. . . Branch hadn’t realized how much he’d come to care for Creek until the day he saw him beneath the morning sun. He walked out one morning to empty their rain buckets over the balcony, a tad disoriented from drowsiness when he turned to a shadow falling over him. It wasn’t unusual to find Creek meditating high above their pod, facing the sun and simply looked at him out of instinct to make sure he was OK.

Branch tilted his head up and there was Creek balancing on one foot, palms perfectly aligned together. Branch could see the sun’s rays catch and caress on Creek’s purple skin, which looked to be freshly washed and cleaned. The sun caught in his whorled hair, too, transforming it into a massive halo of a bright eclipse. 

That’d been all it took. All of it in that one moment. Creek was remarkably stunning and glorious and suddenly so precious to Branch that the vision of a flaming arrow landing in the center of his heart and burning, shook him. Branch had pressed a hand over his thrumming chest and used the side of their pod to keep from stumbling forward.

No one ever told him how strongly love could strike you as it did that very instant. And Branch thinks for the very first time how easy it would be to lose Creek and he never know what he meant to Branch. If a bergen were to ever show and take him away, it’d mean so little to them. They wouldn’t know or care what kind of incredible person Creek is.

So, it was today, this very night, Branch asked Creek to meet him in a secluded location, some distance away from the village, from all prying eyes, away from it all. He wanted absolutely nothing to disturb what he planned to do or what he had to say. There will be no coming back from this and from here onward, no more hiding. He was done with protecting his heart all alone. There was no reason to do so, not when he had someone else willing to help him do it.

It’s the middle of a cool autumn evening. Branch remembers the first time Creek found him by this pond. The purple troll been on a mission that day to get on his nerves. If anyone would have told Branch back then that Creek would become the most important thing in the world to him, well, he would’ve likely fed them to a bergen.

The clearing’s gained an entirely different setting from then. The leaves have faded to darken oranges and crimson, with a few rebelliously changing to a dingy saffron. The surrounding trees added a circle of privacy and space so Branch didn’t feel crowded. He studies over the pond for a while to gather his wits, admiring the transparent, gleaming turquoise blue. The fish have changed color too to accommodate the seasonal change. They were sleeker looking, reflecting off the moonlight like blue metal and stolen sunshine.

“Whew, there’s a wicked chill out here.”

Branch snorts, still facing the pond when he hears Creek’s nearing voice and keeps from chuckling. He knew the purple troll had a low tolerance for the cold and an even thinner veil of patience when being forced to be in the cold. But Branch made sure to come prepared.

He turns in time to Creek rushing forward to press into his chest, and buying his face into Branch’s neck, huffing a warm pant next into his ear. “Say what you gotta say and let’s be on our way home, please?

“No one told you to come out here half-dressed.”

“Shut it. You love me like this.” Creek shivers again and roughly flattens his chest to Branch’s, leeching off his body heat. “Don’t know why we have to come way out here to talk anyway. I’m freezing my bloody britches off.”

“Maybe ‘cause I like to hear you complain.” Branch gently kisses him on the cheek, a little harder on the lips, and lingers. Branch vaguely wonders if Creek knows something’s off. He probably does, because he leans away looking at him perplexedly.

“What’s wrong?” Creek asks.

Branch loves that about him too. They’ll fight, they’ll squabble, but Creek never fails to let him know that he cares.

The grey troll cups his cheek, lazily rubbing his thumb over smooth skin. “We need to talk.” Branch congratulates himself on holding it together. His voice hasn’t wavered yet.

Last night, he’d rehearsed and practiced on what he’d say, how Creek might respond, and the actions to follow—every possible scenario, but now that it was time, this is unfamiliar territory. It’s as if all he’d been ready to say evaporated like smoke. Branch tightly shuts his eyes and shudders.

“Branch, love, what is it?” Creek touches his face, eyes tense with worry. “Has something happened?”

Branch slightly shakes his head and takes Creek’s hand in his. “Not yet. Come sit with me.” The grey troll leads Creek to the edge of the pond and sits, tugging the other down until Creek settles between his legs and relaxes against his chest.

For a while, Branch holds him like this, relishing Creek’s warmth, the earthy, vanilla scented shampoo he used and the natural earthy aroma so apart of him. It was time to appreciate it more as the kind of troll Creek deserved.

“I’m done holding back from you, Creek,” Branch murmurs into the back of Creek’s neck, lips moist, hot and fluttering. Both of his arms curled around Creek’s waist and pulled him closer so he could prop his head on Creek’s shoulder. “I want to tell you what happened to me. Why I’m. . .” he swallows thickly, then continues, “why I’m grey.”

Besides a sharp intake, Creek says nothing and merely nods his head.

“I’ve told you about my family. I wasn’t born from my pod when my parents died and how my grandpa passed away from an illness.” Branch tightens his grip. “I never said what happened to my grandma.” His nose digs into Creek’s hair until all of his face is hidden. “That day, I was singing my heart out. Grandma wanted me to welcome the morning with one of her favorite songs while she hung up the laundry. Of course, I didn’t mind. It’s what we always did on Sundays.”

Creek nods, laying his hands over Branch’s.

“That day, I wasn’t cautious. We usually are when we went to the edge of the Troll Tree, but I was so lost in song and just so glad to make my grandma smile, that I didn’t realize. . .” Branch controlled the impulse to choke on the sour lump swelling in his throat and took several deep, drawn breathes, even as his eyes grew hot. “I-I didn’t see or hear the bergen comin’. . .And Grandma, my grandma tried to warn me. I wasn’t listening. Then she—she managed to shove me off the branch before it could grab me. But it, my grandma, it took her instead.” Branch pauses, a faint sob catching in his voice.

“Oh Branch,” Creek angles his head to lay his cheek against Branch’s.

“For so long, the nightmares came. Over and over her screams rung in my ears and the sight of that bergen snatching her away still burns in my memories. I-I was afraid to sleep at night, thinking I would hear her screams. I still do sometimes.”

“You should have told me.” Creek full turns to crouch between Branch’s thighs and cups his face. His touch isn’t soft as it should have been. Anger crept into his fingertips, his grasp fastening like needles. “You _incredible_ idiot. You’ve shouldered this pain, suffering so much sadness all these years and you didn’t have to. You could have come to me, I would have shared it with you. Darn it, Branch why?” His arms come up and squeeze the grey troll’s face to his chest.

The next breath shatters his last strand of control. Tears spill from his eyes and no matter how much he tightens his eyelids, the tears leak through. “I can’t lose you, that’s why” he breathes on a choked gulp. “I’m so—so scared to love you and then—you’re taken. I can’t Creek, not again.”

“You won’t lose me, Branch. I’m not going anywhere—”

“You. Don’t. Know. That!” Each word is tearfully punctuated into Creek’s chest. “The bergens will come someday—”

“I love you.” Creek kisses the ear he whispers in. “If it takes all that I am Branch, I will stay with you. You can and will live beyond this.” He quiets to nuzzle the silky hair beneath his chin. “I don’t expect you to recover overnight, but you sharing this with me is a start. We can work on moving forward now. Nice and slow.”

“For how long?” Branch murmurs.

“As long as it takes, Branch. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, love.”

Branch lifts his wet face to peer into Creek’s open, bright, loving face and knows there’s not an ounce of deceit; just pure, raw, open love. It stole Branch’s breath away.

“And you me.” Branch gives a watery smile and tips his head to kiss Creek’s chin. “I-I love you, Creek. I just, oh God, you have no idea how much.”

“I know.” Creek kisses his cheek, his lips and his brow. “You great, big idiot. _My_ great, big idiot.” 

“I like the sound of that. Only,” Branch loosens his hold and lets his hands glide down to cup Creek’s behind and teasingly squeezes, “We’re gonna need to straighten out who belongs to who here”

“We’ll see about that, love.”

Creek dips his head to take that beautiful, _sexy_ mouth and slips his tongue in, swings it around and politely retracts, as if not to overstay his welcome. Branch savors the sweet pressure and the heat spilling into his belly like soup.

The connection is overwhelming; so very sweet. Then a powerful, inner awakening surges from deep within Branch threatening to topple over. For so very long he’s kept a firm restrain on his core, and the struggle to let go began to emerge. Little by little warmth flooded his body in a shivering snap, like the coils to a spring finally releasing.

 _‘No more hiding!’_ Branch’s mind screamed, clutching every drop of his willpower. _‘There’s no reason to now. I’m not alone.’_ He drags the stubborn hold on himself, it deep, deep inside himself, where it remained comfortably shackled—and let’s go.

 

Branch opens his eyes and wounds his arms tighter around Creek and watched through his widening eyes as a glow enveloped them both.

“You’re—Branch!” Creek gapes, leaning away to take in the surfacing transformation.

Like sunlight searing through stormy clouds, the vestiges grey ebbs to a startling shade of liquid smooth azure. It spreads and bounces and sweep from every angle, as if determined to chase away every speck of grey skin. And it rose to Branch’s face, going higher still to bring out his pearly freckles. Then a towering growth of royal blue hair, tinged by a hint of purple, sprouts to the sky and spins and blooms. Like. . . Like—

“A bluebell?” Creek whispers in fascinated awe. “Branch your hair!”  

Light, barely-there touches gaze over Branch’s face, his shoulder blades, his biceps and chest. But Creek’s eyes were honed in on the length of Branch’s hair and the style it sets into; it’s permanent, unique shape.

“After all this time,” Creek’s voice tickles with a sobbing laugh. “You’re happy? Are you really?”

Branch nudges his nose into Creek’s chest and nods. “Very much so.”

“You wonderful, amazing, incredible, troll!” Creek accents every compliment with a kiss to Branch’s nose, his cheeks, his lips and lastly on his forehead and keeps his lips there. “Finally, _finally_ , I see the real you. And just look at you, quite the handsome guy if I ever saw one.”

“I’ve always been good-looking.”

“Vain much? But it’s deserved.” Creek’s eagerly tangle into Branch’s hair and he makes a wanton growl. “Oh love, the things I want to do to you now.”

Branch snorts loud, then examines his arms and hands. He smiles. The light in his newly lighter blued eyes are magnificent to behold. “I’m holding you to that when we get home.”

Creek’s own return the same brilliant shine. “Deal,” he murmurs against his lips and kisses Branch long, deep and perfect.

“I love you, Creek.”

Creek’s cheeks color, then he smartly returns. “You’d better.” His gaze softens. “I love you too.”

This will probably be one of the few most romantic moments they have, being a pessimistic survivalist and an egotistical guru. Branch didn’t have illusions of their future being all cupcakes, flowers and fluff. They’ll still argue, they’ll fight, and probably kick each other’s butt on occasion. 

But that’s just fine with Branch because that’s how they are.

And for him, that’s just as perfect.

**o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o**

 

_“Branch.”_

“Mmm, can’t help it,” Branch murmurs into the side of Creek’s neck. He gives a sharp lick, and even though he is lying on his stomach, Creek feels his knees quiver and his toes curl. He shivers convulsively and languidly stretches and tilts his head to give that glorious tongue more access to his sensitive neck. Since it was the early morning and terribly chilled outdoors, with the roar of a fire crackling from the hearth, Creek is less and less motivated to leave their bed.

The fire’s glow polished Creek’s purple skin perfectly. At least, Branch certainly thought so, and proceeded to continue his wet trail from the ball of Creek’s shoulder to the center of his back. “Just like that. . . _ahhh_ so nice.”

Branch flicks his tongue at the band of Creek’s pants and sits up. “Come on Creek, you need to get up.”

“Finish what you started first and I’ll consider it,” Creek sleepily counters.

“This is backwards. You’re usually the one eager to wake up in the mornings.”

“That’d be the case if I didn’t have an insatiable boyfriend to deal with last night.” Creek yawns, stuffing his face into his pillow. “The things you can do with those lips ought to be criminal.”

Branch let his eyebrows climb in feign innocence. “You’re really gonna act like you weren’t the one doing all the—”

Creek opens a single eye, shooting a sharp look through his curtain of hair. “Don’t be vulgar. It’s too early to be foul-mouthed.”

“Yeah, yeah, get up already.”

“Hmm, what for? We don’t have anything to do today.”

“We do now.” Branch grabs Creek’s hand and tugs. “I gotta show you something.”

Seeing as there was little chance of getting any sleep, Creek reluctantly lifts himself up and uses his arm to push all his hair off his face. He sighs and sits on the edge of their bed, eyes half-mast. “Show me what?” he whines.

“Get dressed.” Branch drops a kiss on Creek’s nose before sliding off the bed and disappearing in their bathroom to freshen up.

Not even the sight of Branch’s sexy butt was enough to coax Creek out of bed right away. It takes several tries before he eventually works up the effort to wash and comb his hair to a flawless flip. With the winter upon the village, Creek grabs a furred turtleneck and duns on his favorite yellow pants. Branch wraps a scarf around his neck, pulls on a long-sleeved green shirt and slips into a pair of cotton brown britches. Creek shakes his head. One of these days, he’ll convince Branch to wear something other than neutral colors. A splash of red or orange would really bring out his colors.

They leave their pod just as the sun’s peering over the horizon, bathing the Troll Tree in contrasting white sunshine. They didn’t go far like Creek assumed they would. He watches as Branch motions for him to stay put and then latches his hair unto the branch holding their pod afloat.

Branch swings himself up, landing on the roof and begins separating the dead, wet leaves, and coiling twigs surrounding their pod’s connection. It’s as Creek calls up for the blue that Branch steps away and beckons Creek up when he’s finish moving around everything.

Creek lands next to him, eyebrows pinched in a bored frown. “What’s up?”

“Check it out.” Branch steps aside, pointing.

Creek rolls his eyes. “If this is another rediscovered twig Branch, so help me. . .” Words die on his tongue. His face goes hot and cold and flushes. “Branch. . . when did. . . is that. . .”

Branch laughs at the babbling words dropping from Creek’s flopping lips. “I dunno, but from how freaky things get in there,” he jerks his thumb at their pod, “this was bound to happen.”

Though small, and scarcely the size of a flower seed, there was no mistaking the bulbous little bud dangling off their pod’s stem.

Protruding from their pod’s pit is another vine protectively constricting the pod, firmly anchoring and securing it in place. Creek carefully eases towards it, reaching out to cup it’s soft, round shell in his palm, admiring the corkscrew soft blues and electric green colors, spiraling around a Rosaline backdrop. Silver sage blotches toned over the bottom and at its split tip.

It’s the most gorgeous thing Creek’s ever seen.

He delicately lifts it to his lips. “Hello there, my darling.” With tender precision, Creek lays it back in place, and turns to face the blue troll. “Well,” he chuckles, then says, “I reckon that means we’d better get ready for the pitty patter of baby feet soon.”

“I’ve already got plans for expanding the pod,” says Branch, staring just as intently at the tiny orb. “I had a healer come by yesterday to check its development. She says it’ll be about eight months more, maybe a little less.”

“Any idea on the gender?”

“Nah, it’s too soon, but we’re doomed if it’s a girl.” 

“Why?”

Branch cocks an eyebrow. “Between your ego, our pride and my attitude, we’re in for a world of disaster.” He sighs mournfully to the sky, and laughs a little. “Blessed be, we’re gonna have our hands full.”

Creek thinks a moment and looks at their pod once more. Their first child. Neither of them possess a single iota on caring for a newborn. There are bound to be a bunch of mistakes and scares. And glory, if Branch is right, and the baby turns out to be a girl. . . “Mercy,” he grumbles

“But.”

Creek faces him.

Branch comes to Creek’s side. “She’ll be the most beautiful troll ever.”

“Yes,” Creek whispers. He steps behind Branch, hugs him close and together they stared lovingly at their creation. “Just like you—mostly me—but some of you too.”

The blue troll drops his head on Creek’s shoulder, groaning. That ego is on a different level. But he laughs and relaxes into Creek’s embrace. When their child was born, they’ll be ready to welcome him or her into their dysfunctional relationship.

. . . And be the happiest trolls alive.

 

**^_^ The End ^_^**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for this tale. I may make a small one-shot showing where they are for this particular universe, but that's up in the air right now. I'm currently halfway through the next chapter story titled, "Some Virtues of a Happily Ever After" (Not an actual fairytale). It'll likely be one or two chapters long. Next, I have another short story called, "Love Sick" that's guesstimated to be two or three chapters long. 
> 
> Let me know which one you think sounds the most interesting and it'll be posted first, then the other will come afterwards. Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for the next story coming to you soon!

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Stay tuned for more. Thanks so much for reading!


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